


Make-believe - Of Deceitful Hearts and Clouded Minds, Of a Viper’s Whispers and Chocolate’s conviction [Kazoku Game x Shitsuren Chocolatier cross-over]

by xdestroying



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Drama cross-over, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Manipulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-20
Updated: 2017-09-20
Packaged: 2018-12-31 22:17:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 44,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12142278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xdestroying/pseuds/xdestroying
Summary: Souta has been unrequitedly in love with Saeko for twelve years and refuses to give up on the love he bears for her. Then he meets Yoshimoto Kouya, a tutor who offers Souta a deal...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cielmelodies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cielmelodies/gifts).



> Written for the Arashi exchange 2017.

The first time he went to choco la vie, he was an ordinary customer, and he ordered a chocolate shortcake. As a matter of fact, Souta did not even meet him, busy as he was tempering chocolate on the marble counter. He simply came to know the customer as the “guy who stuffed his face greedily and finished in five seconds, proceeding to praise the taste and texture of the cake with a wide grin, promising he would be back soon.” Appearing as though he actually managed to notice the texture during the time it took him to swallow the cake like a starving vulture. Apparently, Kaoruko had been rather disturbed whereas Olivier had merely found the man very amusing.

The second time, Souta was busy preparing a special cake Saeko had ordered for one of her parties, so he did not even glance through the window to the store, to see who came and went, thus not witnessing the show when the customer ordered both the roll cake with chocolate-coated almonds and a side-order of Souta’s newest white chocolates with strawberry-filling. 

The third time, the customer asked to meet Souta. Kaoruko told Souta the guy had only made it halfway through his piece of chocolate tart before he waved his hand at her and Olivier, demanding he meet the creator of such an “amazing cake”. Although, really, it was a tart.

And even then, Souta did not pick up any weird vibes from the customer, he simply bowed and thanked the man for the great praise he was throwing Souta, promising he would be back every week, always looking forward to the chocolatier’s newest ideas and artful creations. Before leaving, he shook Souta’s hand, handing him a crooked grin that Souta later had to admit was perhaps a bit creepy. But he paid it no mind. 

Looking back, perhaps he should have. 

* 

Souta has just finished tempering the chocolate to be used to make the afternoon batch of dark caramel chocolates shaped like coffee beans, when he notices a waving movement in the corner of his eye. As soon as he turns his head, his heart skips a beat. Saeko is standing behind the counter, waving energetically at him, and she is wearing this sparkling smile of hers, her hair looking soft as silk, lips red like roses and her eyes shining, making her sparkling earrings pale in comparison. 

A fairy…

The distance is too great between them, and Souta almost stumbles over his feet in his rush to dry his hands in his apron and make his way through the glass door.

“Saeko-san.” He greets, out of breath, feeling the strain in his cheeks as he smiles. His heart is beating so wildly in his chest, he is sure his ribcage will burst. It feels like he just ran a marathon.

“Souta-kun! It’s been a while.” She is so beautiful, pulling a stray lock of hair behind her ear. 

Souta wishes he was the one doing that, but remains standing behind the counter, unsure of what to do with his hands, so he clasps them behind his back, “Un,” he nods, trying to rein in his smile, “How are you? I made a new bonbon chocolate.”

Saeko’s eyes light up, and it is all worth it. 

There might be other customers in the store, but Souta hardly notices, eyes drawn to the beautiful creature in front of him, as she pays for a box of 12 mixed chocolates. The moment she steps out of the door, he misses her. If only he could follow her home, watch her eat those chocolates. Her full, luscious lips wrapped around his creation, the taste filling her mouth, her tongue slipping out to lick the dark taste away…

“Wow, you are really into her, huh.”

Souta startles, nearly pushing the display on the counter off, but saves it before it falls and scrambles to pull it back to its proper place. When did he turn so fidgety? 

When he finally gathers himself, he finds the regular customer with the thick, brown hair, oversized bag and creepy smile leaning on the counter, eyes sparkling mischievously. 

“Wh- What are you talking about?” Souta stammers, touching his hair in a nervous gesture.

The man only smiles mysteriously, “You know, I wouldn’t have guessed her to be your type, but witnessing you like this, I think I’ve changed my mind.”

Souta purses his lips, refusing to acknowledge this man’s observation skills and what he is hinting at. Souta knows that he is only hurting himself with his love for a married woman, but he is addicted. There is nothing he can do.

“I should get back to my work.” He tells the man, bowing politely before he turns on his heel.

The customer’s eyes linger on him, even as Souta continues working chocolates into perfect shapes, but Souta ignores him, pretending he is not standing there, on the other side of the glass, watching him for 20 minutes.

* 

Even if Saeko is late, and Kaoruko was close to selling the specially-ordered set of baked goods to someone else, Souta is still thrilled to see her. He easily accepts her excuse of waiting for an electrician who was late, even though he – in the back of his mind – realizes that she could have made it here on time, with a little effort. But with that smile and her downcast eyes and sweet voice, how can he not forgive her and let it go?

“You sure love her. Guess Chocolate Princes really do chase after Chocolate Princesses.”

Souta starts. How did he move here so fast? Was Souta just too occupied throwing longing glances at the door after Saeko left?

“Is that why you made this place?” the customer is now leaning over the counter, elbows resting on the glass, and he is smirking so widely, Souta does not know what to do but to take a step away from him. The man chuckles, and Souta can sense the mocking, “You built this shop to impress her, to win her heart. How cute.” He does not look like he finds it cute at all. If anything, he finds it amusing. And pathetic.

Souta already knows he is pathetic, but this is his dream. To make chocolates that Saeko will enjoy. And there is no way this guy waltzing up here and pretending he knows everything will take that dream away.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” Souta ends up asking, voice devoid of anything but stiff politeness, “I am rather busy, so if you’ll excuse me.” 

He tries not to rush as he walks back through the doors to work on a batch of baked sweets. Again, he feels the customer’s eyes boring into his back like hot iron spikes. Souta does not relent, and breathes a sigh of relief that earns him questioning looks from Olivier and Kaoruko when he sees the customer leave his periphery.

If this continues, he will have to forbid the customer from visiting choco la vie. Souta will not stand to be harassed like this.

 

* 

 

“I understand. We will bring the cake to your place at exactly 2 pm. tomorrow. Of course. Thank you.” Souta hangs up, a small smile on his face for landing another job. 

They have been doing this for a while now, taking orders via phone and bringing it to the customer. After Saeko’s wedding and the spread in Gourmet Seeker more and more people have been calling the shop. Souta has even been forced to refuse some orders to make sure he at least gets 3 hours of sleep at night. The three of them have been kept busy, so busy that Souta has even had to ask his younger sister for help manning the store.

Souta turns around to face the bustling of the store, and his smile stiffens.

Today, he is not wearing his long, brown coat, and his bag is left at one of the small tables by the window, “I rarely see you out in the store like this Chocolate Prince.” 

Souta is so used to that shit-eating grin that it hardly affects him anymore, “How can I help you?”

The guy tilts his head, eyes studying Souta’s face, and Souta almost leaves the customer out of impatience when he finally answers, face more serious.

“I couldn’t help but notice the whispers of praise for your amitié.” He tells Souta, “So could you give me one of those with a cup of coffee?”

Souta wants to refuse him, tell him to go ask Kaoruko, but she is busy with another customer which leaves Souta with no choice, “Of course,” he grits out instead, hands on the sides of his apron, “I will bring it to you.” He gestures for the customer to return to his table, not looking him in the eye.

At least the guy lets him prepare the cake on a plate and brew the coffee in peace, which actually sort of surprises Souta. But he still has to witness his eyes lighting up when Souta brings him the set at his table.

“That looks very good. You know, you cannot get amitié anywhere else in this area.” The guy sounds real and when he looks at the cake, the smile is one of genuine happiness.

Souta cannot help but furrow his brow, and before he knows it, he has taken a seat on the chair opposite of the man, “Who are you anyway?” he blurts out, forgetting to be polite in his curiosity to solve the mystery of this guy who keeps returning to poke at Souta regularly.

The customer raises his eyes to look at Souta through dark eyelashes. He smirks, and a chill runs down Souta’s spine. Then he breaks eye contact to fish around in his giant bag for a business card he hands to Souta, “Yoshimoto Kouya, home tutor, with a 100% success rate at getting anyone, no matter who, into Toudai.” He sounds like an insurance commercial, but accompanied by those eyes that appears to see everything, he just comes across as untrustworthy. 

“You really have a 100% success rate?” Souta inquires sceptically, accidentally looking into a set of deep brown – almost black – eyes. 

“Of course. There is no way I’d lie.” Yoshimoto nods, pouting offendedly.

For his sake, Souta hopes the man is a little more calm and less like a Cheshire cat when he sells himself to a family. 

Since Souta had feared the man may perhaps be a food critic or a journalist, he finds himself breathing a sigh of relief, “Very well, Yoshimoto-san. Nice to make your acquaintance. I hope you enjoy the cake.” With that, he bows his head and rises, returning to work. He is definitely less spooked by the man now that he has both his name and profession.

 

*

 

Souta has to ask Yoshimoto to repeat himself the next time they meet, exclaiming an uncool “Excuse me?” when Yoshimoto presents his proposal.

“I can help you with her. Make her want you, that is.” 

Souta blinks stupidly, “You’re a tutor.” 

It is just before closing time with only Yoshimoto left in the store and it honestly does not appear to be a coincidence, although Souta is happy for his discreetness for once.

“Correct,” Yoshimoto smiles, “But tutoring a 12-year old kid to prepare him for exams cannot be too different from tutoring a heartbroken Chocolate Prince to win the heart of his beloved Princess. I’d say I know a thing or two about women.”

Souta does not doubt that. The tutor is a handsome man, even Souta can see that, with a simple style in clothes, a sharp jawline and an easy smile. Souta knows that women, including Saeko, like bad guys – which is why he is trying to change himself, as he has never really been like that. He thinks it is not going too well for the time being though. But this Yoshimoto could be a bad guy. No, he certainly is not a good guy, there is some kind of dark aura surrounding him. So perhaps he really could offer Souta some advice on women. 

So far, Souta has only managed to refuse one of Saeko’s requests rather harshly, perhaps too harshly, which led to her not showing up in the store for a month. Nothing good came out of that really. 

“You could really help me?” Souta is afraid of hoping for too much, but this offer seems to come in his most dire time of need. Olivier is hardly any help – except for in Souta’s dreams – and Kaoruko does not understand Souta’s wish and _need_ to see Saeko. She is Souta’s muse after all, his inspiration, and his destruction. But he wants to be hurt, till the point where he cannot take it anymore. Until she pushes him to his knees, he will long for her.

“And it won’t cost you a thing,” Yoshimoto grins, showing Souta his white teeth, though the latter part of his sentence is clearly no joke, “except for free cake every time I am here, of course.”

There is something convincing and enthralling about Yoshimoto’s expression then, which makes Souta want to believe in him, want to listen to and learn from him. He would not be surprised to find Yoshimoto using the same technique on his students, “Okay. I am in. Please tell me what to do.”

“First off, you can call me sensei,” Yoshimoto’s grin widens, and Souta resists the urge to roll his eyes, “Second, you have to swear you won’t back out. Unless you fall out of love with your princess.”

Souta does not believe that will ever happen. He fell in love with her at first sight, but unfortunately, he cannot seem to fall out of love. It has been 12 years after all.

“I promise.”

Yoshimoto nods, looking very pleased, “Good. We begin at your next free module – or day, whichever fits you. Send me your schedule by mail. And I will send you a contract.” The tutor proceeds to scribble down a regular mail address on the notepad on the counter. He offers Souta the ripped-off piece of paper afterwards, their fingers touching. 

A contract? Really, is this, after all, a good idea?

If Saeko finds out, Souta is doomed. If something goes wrong, Souta is doomed. He must keep it a secret from everyone, with no risk of anyone exposing his secret.

“Oh, and Koyurugi-san.” Souta looks up again, thrown out of his thoughts. “You can give me a piece of the gateau au chocolat to go, as a sign of good will.” His eyebrows are raised in expectancy. And Souta wants to dry the provocative expression off his damn face. 

 

* 

 

“You have to become _a bad guy._ ”

The devil with red eyes and dark wings in Souta’s dream now has the face of Yoshimoto Kouya, and instead of Olivier’s face which was merely stern, the devil is now grinning cruelly, sharp fangs shining. Its voice echoes loudly in Souta’s ears and suddenly, the ground beneath his feet is shaking. The church grows dark, the walls crack and the building starts to fall apart around him, caving in and threatening to crush him underneath the heavy, dark stones.

_ “I will ruin you.” _

Souta wakes with a start, sits up in his bed, out of breath and bathed in sweat. 

 

* 

 

He does not dislike Yoshimoto, not really. He just feels incredibly doubtful and on edge around him. If Yoshimoto is indeed genuine, it appears that it will still take a while for Souta to fully believe that his intentions are good, and that he does not have some kind of ulterior motive.

“I think we should go and have a talk first.” Yoshimoto suggests, his way of walking so fast that Souta has to occasionally run a few steps to keep up. The man’s arms are swinging energetically, almost a little robotically at his sides and he is looking straight ahead, even as his big, brown bag slams against his backside rhythmically. 

Souta has Olivier and Kaoruko look after the shop for the rest of the day, with the promise that he will be back no later than 5 pm., to start working on the goods for tomorrow. He cannot possibly neglect his important work for longer than that.

“Talk?” he asks stupidly.

Yoshimoto smiles, but does not turn to meet Souta’s eyes, “Yes, talk. You cannot expect me to give you the best advice without knowing your story, now can I? So, you will tell me everything about Saeko-san.”

Souta’s eyes snap up, “You know her?”

“Of course not.” Suddenly, Yoshimoto stops, and Souta almost bumps into him, “I just happened to listen in on one of your conversations.” He looks completely unashamed as he says this, appearing as though it is perfectly natural to nag in other people’s business.

Souta is starting to think that this guy just does whatever he pleases, with no remorse or consideration for other people. 

Maybe this really is a horrible idea. 

But on the other hand, Souta hardly ever goes out, so seeing the neighbourhood, accompanied by someone who is neither Elena nor one of his co-workers, is surprisingly refreshing. Although part of his thoughts does not stray far from chocolates and ideas and schedules for the creation of baked cakes and mousses. 

Yoshimoto has taken Souta to a park, it appears. And upon further inspection, Souta realizes, with horror, that it is the same park to which he took Saeko on February 13th, the day before Valentine’s Day, 2007. He stares dumbly after Yoshimoto while he – without hesitation – proceeds to walk towards the bench where Souta sat with Saeko at his side, so close to getting what he wanted, and yet so far. That day, when his heart was broken. That day, when he almost had to get on his knees to convince Saeko to accept the chocolates he had spent an entire night making especially according to her tastes. And the morning after was when he decided to go to Paris.

What kind of horrible coincidence is this?

-

He should see his face.

Kouya almost regrets not bringing a mirror to put up in front of Souta, just to show him how utterly horrified he looks. 

This is almost too good, and they have hardly begun. All the plans Kouya already has for the chocolatier, all the ideas already set in motion. Once he signs the contract, there will be no backing out for Souta Koyurugi, not until he witnesses the end, either before or after the big reveal. 

Kouya wonders how long the young man will last. Given how deep he has already dug himself towards his own destruction, Kouya expects he just needs that last push. But then again, given how persistent he has been; how many times that woman has hurt him, and he has bounced right back, determination even stronger, Kouya is unsure of the outcome. Which is the reason why he got the idea to begin with.

No fun in just witnessing predictable outcomes. 

And Kouya by no means aims for choco la vie to close. By no means. That would mean he can no longer partake in the delicious treats from the chocolatier. No, he supposes he just saw a chance for more entertainment than his current student and his family is turning out to be. After the Numata family, everything almost seems too easy.

Unsurprisingly, Souta takes a step back in shock, first blinking before his expression turns to one of anger, after Kouya raises his phone and snaps a quick picture, “What are you doing?”

The reaction only makes Kouya smile, “Good.” Instead of treating Souta to more of an answer, Kouya merely turns back around and sits down on the bench, the metal warm from the sun. He pads the iron beside him in a gesture for Souta to sit.

Where he expects for Souta to hesitate, to retain his sceptic behaviour, it only takes a moment before Souta sits down, perhaps his curiosity winning over any doubt he may have about the tutor. But Kouya expects to remove the doubt and anxiety in the following couple of days, once he presents Souta with results. 

Once Souta is seated next to him, Kouya leans back, purses his lips and looks at the chocolatier with expectation, “So, you may begin. How did you meet?”

It is very easy to get Souta to talk about his unrequited love, just as Kouya expected. The man is brimming with love and affection for a woman who is more Souta’s imagination and image of her, than she is a living, flawed human. Saeko Takahashi is definitely a real woman of flesh and bone, but compared to the Saeko in Souta’s head, there are major differences. 

A human is only human, but what Souta has made her to be is some sort of over-worldly fairy-creature – he even calls her fairy himself once he really starts going on about why she is so great, Kouya is hardly listening at this point, merely observing and learning Souta’s feelings and way of thinking – of how Saeko is a creature of beauty and innocence. How boring – and severely far from the truth – is that? Kouya does learn how much of a role Saeko plays in Souta’s creations of chocolates, how she is a source of inspiration, a muse, for Souta’s dreams. She is the one who turns Souta’s chocolate creation into an artform. 

And so, while Souta blabbers on about how he has been pining for the woman for 12 years, after bumping into her in school when he was 15, Kouya realizes that this matter should be handled with great care. That if he takes Saeko away from Souta – takes her away, not as in physically, but mentally from Souta’s mind – Kouya would need to find a substitute for her. If not, Souta’s inspiration will be vanquished, he will be left confused and unable to see his dreams, thus unable to visualize and create chocolates of the quality they have now. 

Being a great lover of sweets and food in general, Kouya thinks that would be a horrible waste. Which leaves him already starting to consider the best following course of action after today.

“And I told her that I did not care if she was exploiting me, if I was simply someone sating her loneliness between boyfriends, or when her current boyfriend was away and she was miserable,” Souta continues beside him, and Kouya does not feel sorry for him at all, “But I was young and rash, and an idiot. I had to beg her to take the chocolates I had spent most of the night making, pretending they were nothing. That they did not mean a thing, despite me pouring all my love into them.” Now Souta turns towards Kouya, and Kouya is a little surprised to see such emotion in those huge, brown eyes aimed at him, Souta’s attention on Kouya despite his mind lingering forever on Saeko, “I do realise how much easier it would be if I could just love someone else. Saeko-san makes a fool out of me, and I dislike that. But I cannot stop. I cannot stop loving her and wanting her to hurt me. If she is not around, my mind becomes foggy. I want to show her my feelings, while becoming someone who is not looked down upon.” Souta is almost out of breath, having inched closer and closer to Kouya’s face.

Anyone else would have probably shied back, but Kouya simply narrows his eyes and stares right back into Souta’s. Until, eventually, Souta slumps back against the backrest with a deep sigh, palms up and arms hanging at his sides, “But I am no good. I try to learn to become more of a bad guy, I know I have to.”

A smirk slowly creeps onto Kouya’s face, “Well, you take the words out of my mouth, Souta-kun.” 

If Souta is bothered by the use of his first name, he does not show it, watching Kouya with a little more light in his eyes – hoping. 

Kouya continues, “Saeko-san is clearly interested in bad guys, as you said. She is not interested in someone who is easy to get, someone who follows her around like a puppy and licks her feet,” Kouya does not bother hiding the contempt in his voice, “And so, you must become someone interesting to her. Someone she must fight for, someone she has to chase. You need to become a price that is hard to get.”

“A price?” 

Souta is a little slow; something Kouya already observed by simply watching him in the store. He is brilliant with chocolates and sweets, but very slow on the uptake when it comes to love and the art of seduction. Curiously enough.

“And you are already well on your way to becoming that, aren’t you-” Kouya tilts his head, “Chocolate Prince?” 

 

 

** Week one – Rippled dark and white chocolate rum truffle, rolled in cocoa powder **

Words echo in Souta’s mind, twisting and turning as he considers yesterday’s conversation in the park. 

What began as increasingly suspicious to Souta, turned out to give him motivation and even food for thought. With Yoshimoto’s knowing eyes on him, Souta felt as though he only had to tell the tutor half the story, and he would be able to know the rest, by just interpreting Souta’s words, by just looking at him. As utterly nerve-wracking and terrifying as the thought is, Yoshimoto seems to be able to see right through Souta. Right through anyone actually, with those dark-brown eyes. Eyes that have seen and experienced so much. Of that, Souta has no doubt.

There is an air of deep knowledge and timeless wisdom surrounding Yoshimoto Kouya, intelligence not fitted someone so young. Although he must be a few years older than Souta. Perhaps, it is this intelligence and maturity which draws young students to the man; the reason why he has such success with his job. But teaching students and helping someone seduce a married woman, are the techniques for such things not miles apart?

“What’s wrong?” 

Kaoruko’s voice snaps Souta out of it, the image of Yoshimoto’s creepy grin going up in smoke. Souta realises he has been stirring the chocolate for more than 5 minutes too long.

“A price, huh…” Souta mumbles to no one in particular, and he can see Kaoruko and Olivier exchanging confused looks over the tables while they are helping prepare today’s sweets and chocolates. 

Perhaps attempting to foresee mental effects on a person and interpreting what lies beyond the spoken word of love is not so far from solving an equation in math. Perhaps, Souta really has found a guide to help him be able to finally hold Saeko in his arms, to pull her close and kiss her; her soft lips pressing against his, the taste of chocolate lingering in her perfect, warm mouth, the-

“OI! Snap out of it.”

The vision disappears, and Souta is left for a moment confused, wondering where he is, who he is, who spoke to him. But Kaoruko with her hands on her hips and a stern expression is no fantasy, “Quit daydreaming. You still have two batches of caramel chocolates and chocolate mousse to finish, no time to fool around.”

“O- of course!”

Sometimes, Souta forgets himself. When he delves too deep into those sinful fantasies of how it would feel to hold Saeko in his arms, how it would feel to finally have her belong to Souta, he forgets the cruel, dull reality. 

He pours the chocolate down onto the marble plate, watching as the thick liquid, like silk, spreads over the cold, white stone, and then he bends down to fold it, stir it and bring it down to the perfect temperature. With chocolate, Souta is in control, and he pours all his love for Saeko into the making of what he imagines to be the world’s best chocolate.

 

* 

 

“Good…” 

The sound of the phone camera goes on in succession as Kouya walks around the building, watching through the lens of his blue phone. It is 8 am., and the place has not opened yet. However, since Kouya followed him this morning, he knows that Souta arrived at 7 am. precisely, alone, likely to start preparing the sweets for the day. Although the chocolatier will be busy all day, Kouya knows something is bound to make him even more busy. Probably also additionally excited. 

Saeko Takahashi has been refused to go on a weekend trip with her friend, by her husband. The man who is 12 years older than her is of the conviction that going out like that as a housewife is out of the question, even if it leaves her home alone doing nothing but cook the food he is home too late to eat with her, as well as wash and fold his clothes, clean the house and do the shopping. This refusal has made her miserable, and the likelihood of her showing up to see Souta soon is therefore very high. Chocolate is her way of reducing stress. As well as seeing men who would follow her around and shower her with attention.

Kouya smirks as he lowers his phone. 

But Souta is trying very hard not to be like that anymore, and Kouya is here to help him with that.

Yesterday, Kouya had Souta sign the contract as they split up in the park. Souta had been talking about Saeko for hours, and it had turned dark by the time he suddenly realised he needed to go back to the store, he was late already, and Kaoruko would surely scold him. But of course, Kouya had predicted that Souta would be unable to stop once he started talking about Saeko, and about the things she had put him through. Too caught up was he in their conversation, that Souta hardly noticed the length of the contract, and he most definitely did not consider reading all the points. Almost too easy.

For the chocolatier, the feelings he holds for Saeko are like an addiction. Sweet in the moment, but with horrible side-effects and withdrawal symptoms, should he be deprived of her for more than a week. And now that he is utterly ensnared in Kouya’s trap, he is in for one hell of an extensive rehab.

By the time it is 9 am. Kaoruko comes out to sweep the stones in front of choco la vie, and she momentarily stops in her tracks, a stunned expression on her face. 

Kouya gives her a small bow, “Good morning,” 

She bows back, “You are early today.” 

The woman has been working for Souta ever since he came back from France, and she was his colleague back when choco la vie was Souta’s father’s pastry store. She is in her thirties – a few years older than Souta – and quite sharp, although honest. Safe to say, she knows Souta incredibly well. 

“I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“To me?” Kaoruko wears such open expressions, which Kouya finds very refreshing.

He takes a step closer, and knows she will not be doing a lot of sweeping this morning, “It’s about Souta.” Her eyes widen, a soft blush brushing over her cheekbones. 

Kouya smiles, “I am aware of his love for that woman who comes here very often, but I wanted to hear your side of the story, what you know of her. Since I have promised to help Souta out, I need information.”

At first, Kaoruko is sceptical, and Kouya understands. One thing is revealing information about one’s boss, another thing entirely is revealing information about a dear friend you have a crush on; even talk about the love that particular person holds for someone else. This whole matter is quite a circle of unrequited love. 

_ How very amusing. _

“Well, I don’t know much,” she starts, holding onto the broom with both hands, “Aside from the fact that that woman is _using_ Souta!” Kaoruko’s eyes get a faraway look, and she no longer looks at Kouya but off into the distance. It did not take much to get her started.

Kouya smirks, and whispers under his breath, “Good.”

-

When Kaoruko returns from outside, it is with Yoshimoto in tow. Souta is honestly a little surprised to see the man this early after last night, although his presence has become a constant in Souta’s store.

“Good morning!” Yoshimoto announces, his signature energetic walk on full display as he makes his way to the counter, “How’s the planning of a new product coming along? Kaoruko-san told me about it.” He looks genuinely interested, and that just makes Souta all the more miserable and mad at himself for being unable to come up with a proper idea for a special new product.

“Still in progress…” Souta mutters. 

Beside him, Kaoruko makes her way behind the counter to face Yoshimoto, a professional, albeit strict smile on her face, “Souta-kun has a lot of work with the chocolates already as it is. I am afraid he sometimes bites off more than he can chew, so please do not encourage him. He already lacks sleep as it is.”

Souta gets an unsettling churning in his stomach when Yoshimoto’s smile turns into a wide smirk, but whereas those knowing eyes are usually resting on Souta, they are now aimed at Kaoruko, who blinks stupidly – naturally – very confused at the reaction her statement caused.

“I understand.” Yoshimoto’s voice is dark, slightly gravelly when he tilts his head and continues to just _look_ at Kaoruko. 

The woman is Souta’s trusted employee and long-time friend, and so, he takes a step towards her, determined to defend her in whatever mockery or scheme – Souta honestly cannot tell with this man – Yoshimoto is planning, “So, did you want to order anything? Because if not-” 

“Of course.” Yoshimoto snaps his gaze back on Souta, effectively cutting him off, “I’d like the orange chocolate shortcake, please.” As if nothing particularly strange just happened between the three of them, as if Souta did not just witness something, he is not quite sure what was.

At least stuffing food in his face will make the guy leave them alone for just 5 minutes. Enough for both Souta and Kaoruko to flee back behind the glass, occupying themselves with the chocolates. Souta looks away just as Yoshimoto takes a picture of the cake. And another. And one of his coffee cup, one of the window beside him…

“Have you heard from Saeko-san?” Olivier’s question tears Souta’s attention away from Yoshimoto, and that is just as well.

They somehow always end up discussing Saeko while making chocolates. She is the source of Souta’s inspiration and the reason why there is a choco la vie afterall.

“She sent me a message, saying she’d come by soon.” Olivier smiles, but then Souta continues, “But I didn’t reply. There is nothing to say really – I don’t want to appear too eager after all.”

His friend nods in understanding, and Souta recalls how angel Olivier turned into demon Olivier. Before Yoshimoto appeared. Souta shivers. When he glances out the glass window, Yoshimoto has left, leaving behind an empty plate. Souta is so often left surprised at how fast the tutor can eat. Then, while his head is still turned, the door opens, the soft chiming of the bell announcing a customer. And time slows down. 

Despite there being a wall of glass separating them, Souta can imagine the clank of her high heels against the stone floor, can almost see the imaginary sparks ahead of her before she steps out from behind the shelves, her long wavy hair shimmering in the sun coming through the windows. Souta almost drops the bowl of melted chocolate on the floor in his hurry to go and greet her. But only almost. He stops himself before he can act like a fool, throwing Saeko a nod, stirring the chocolate a bit before leaving the marble counter. 

_ Relaxed and confident _ , he chants in his head, trying his best to ignore his wildly beating heart and calm his breathing.

“Saeko-san,” he greets once they are face to face. 

_ She smells so good. _

“Souta-kun, I came to see you.” She says, flashing her white teeth in a charming smile, and Souta’s knees go weak. 

_ Her lips are so shapely and her lashes so long… _

“Yes. How have you been?”

They exchange pleasantries, Souta managing to remain rather cool, until-

“Saeko-san. Is there anything in particular you’d like to eat? Any ideas for a new product?” Souta does not catch himself before the words are out of his mouth, a question he has been pondering for a while.

Due to the steady increase in the shop’s popularity, Souta wants to introduce a new product to maintain the interest of the customers, and since Saeko is the image of the average customer in choco la vie – and Souta’s muse – he has been wanting to hear her advice for a while. And she does not hesitate to answer,

“Pain au chocolat!” she exclaims, so excited that Souta feels himself falling all over again.

_ So cute. _

“Pain au chocolat?”

“Yes! I love pain au chocolat! If Souta-kun can make them, I think it would be incredibly delicious. I’d come here every day!”

_ Every day? _ Souta’s eyes widen, and he swallows an equally excited squeak, “I understand. Pain au chocolat, huh? I will see what I can do.”

When he offers Saeko a soft smile, she sends a one huge back, her eyes slimming and her shoulders rising a little, “I look forward to it! Please let me know when you finish it. Oh, and then I’d like a box of 20 chocolates today. I will have a friend over for tea.”

She is just too beautiful, too cheerful and too colourful. Souta occupies himself with arranging a variety of chocolates he knows Saeko likes, and her face of excitement stays with him for the rest of the day, even haunting him at night. 

He really loves her. And he wants to make the most delicious pain au chocolat for her to enjoy. Just for her…

* 

The shutter clicks. And the fifth picture in a row appears on the screen. 

Saeko is smiling and throwing her eyes down, a hand raised to tug a lock of hair behind her ear. In front of her, Souta is watching her with a soft smile, warmth and love so obviously evident in his eyes as he rests his weight on the glass counter. The scene is shot through a wide window, the frame in the shot as well.

Kouya smirks, “That’s good….”

 

* 

 

Elena’s smile is enough for Souta to forget his worries for a while, to pour his heart out while the girl tells Souta about her unrequited love. It is nice, having a friend who shares one’s pains and pleasures of being in love. It is both thrilling and hurtful, and with Elena, Souta has found a kindred soul.

“A tutor?” Elena asks when Souta mentions Yoshimoto, her full, pouty lips stealing his attention for a second.

He has mentioned Yoshimoto before as the very strange customer who would always leave very high praises for the treats at choco la vie which earned a very amusing reaction from Elena who visibly shivered and voiced out what had been on Souta’s mind; that Yoshimoto is creepy. Now, Souta would rather describe him as hard to read or maybe unpredictable. Despite not trusting him, Souta signed the contract.

“Would you not have done the same?” he asks Elena, turning to face her on the couch, both of them in their nightwear, “For the one you love? If someone offered to help you, to train you to become a price your loved one wanted to win, someone they’d yearn for.”

Elena’s eyes turn sparkly at the prospect, her previous sceptical expression turning into a smile, her cheeks turning slightly red. She nods, gazes charmingly at Souta, “Yes. I would. You are right.” She grabs Souta’s hand to give it a loving squeeze before she nestles down next to him, her body heat seeping comfortingly through Souta’s skin, “I would take any chance I could get to win his heart. And you said, he appeared to be very intelligent?”

“He has 100% success with getting students into Toudai.”

“Wow! I guess that counts for something. Toudai!” Elena agrees.

 

Later, Elena prepares tea, offering Souta a steaming cup with a herbal smell. She sits down very close to him, one of her naked legs thrown over his, “So, tell me about your tutor. Is he handsome?”

When Souta raises an eyebrow at her, Elena just smiles widely, not innocent at all.

“I guess he is handsome.” Souta starts, thinking of Yoshimoto’s full lips, dark eyes and semi-long hair, “He is no model, with his simple style, but I guess he is manly. A little dark.” 

Yoshimoto’s shapely mouth in Souta’s imagination turns upwards into a smile, the creepiness of it proportionate with its size. Souta shivers and shakes his head to clear out the imagery.

Elena tilts her head, clearly imagining how Souta’s customer – and tutor now – looks, “I want to meet him.”

“He is weird though, comes across as a little off.”

“Well, I am weird too.” Elena argues and grabs Souta’s hand to lace their fingers together before repeating herself, “I want to meet him.” And Souta finds the wish quite endearing.

When Souta holds Elena that night, he thinks of Saeko, of how he cannot wait to hold her in his arms like he is holding Elena. Despite not trusting Yoshimoto, there is a big part of Souta who naively believes that Yoshimoto can help; that he can fulfil that dream of Souta’s, that he can bring Saeko into Souta’s embrace willingly, as though she has longed for it for as long as Souta has longed for her. And so, Souta convinces himself that he will follow Yoshimoto’s guidance, whatever it may be. Which was Yoshimoto’s main condition in their agreement, one of the main points in the contract – although Souta did not read them all, simply because there were too many. Five pages and 600 points was going a little overboard.

But now, Souta will not – cannot – back out. 

 

* 

 

“The famous actress Fujimoto Ryoko has praised your chocolate mousse, Souta-kun.” Yoshimoto shows Souta his phone screen, on which a website called Eatrend is displayed, with a ranking of Tokyo’s top sweets. Choco la vie’s mousse is placed second, “I bet this will bring along a big wave of costumers. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Souta offers a hesitant smile, pride making his cheeks heat up, but refusing to let the information get to his head. With a rival like Ricdor, a second place is not enough to keep up with the other chocolatier. 

“I wish I could have been here to handle her order!” Souta’s younger sister chirps in, sighing dreamily and resting her elbows on the glass cabinets recently filled to the brim with chocolates.

They open in less than 30 minutes, and after coffee, Souta’s tutor heads off for work. Yoshimoto informed Souta that he is tutoring a middle school kid whose parents have long since given up on trying to make him work on bettering his grades and preparing for entrance exams. And he is really making Yoshimoto earn his money, although Yoshimoto keeps on boasting about his own skills, how he will have the kid go to school enthusiastically in no time.

He is, however, busy, and since Souta is equally busy, their lessons for the past week has mainly been Yoshimoto learning as much as he can about Souta’s situation, about Saeko and offering pieces of advice here and there. Advice, which turned out to be very useful for Souta yesterday, when Saeko let him know per text that she is going to stop by and has something to ask of Souta. Oddly enough, a few hours before the text arrived, Yoshimoto offered Souta a list of things to say and how to react, should Saeko suddenly ask him to meet her somewhere, alone. 

Up until this point, Souta found that Yoshimoto’s advice was perhaps a little too optimistic. He cannot quite imagine Saeko would ask him out when she is married. Which is why he finds himself utterly thrown off balance, when Saeko does just that, in the middle of the store today.

“Do you have plans for the upcoming holidays?” she asks him, right as she comes through the store.

The place is otherwise empty, since it is only about half an hour before closing time. 

Saeko continues, while Souta leans across the counter attentively. Kaoruko is watching the exchange quietly, although Souta forgets her presence with Saeko standing so close, looking as radiant as ever, “My friend is getting married, and I thought of buying her some tableware as a congratulatory gift. So, if you have time…” Saeko trails off, her eyes softening along with her voice, making her come across as both a little nervous and hesitant, “I wondered if you’d go out with me?”

Had this been six years ago, Souta would not have hesitated. He would enthusiastically have agreed, not even considering his other plans, putting everything off for Saeko. Anytime. But Souta is not the man he was six years ago, and now, although Saeko’s beautiful eyes rest hopefully on him, Yoshimoto’s words echo in his ears.

“Me?” is what he ends up saying, slight incredulity in his voice.

“Since you are a food professional, I thought you’d have a great taste in tableware,” she explains.

Not a bad reason, Souta thinks, but grows silent, the emotions raging inside him, pushing at him to just accept, accept, _accept_. He wants to just forget everything Yoshimoto told him, but also recognizes that this would be a great test; how, like this, he can try out what would happen should he do exactly as Yoshimoto taught him to. 

So he just looks at Saeko, forcing his face to remain impassive, until he can see how the light in her eyes grow weaker,

“You can’t…?” hearing her voice break pierces Souta’s heart, “Are you busy…?”

He is busy, but not so busy that he would be unable to set things aside for her, not so busy that he cannot accompany her for a few hours. And he wants to, oh, how he wants to. It has been so long, since he has been alone with Saeko, the thought sends warm chills down his spine. But he will not relent. 

Seconds pass like minutes with a stare down between them, and Souta’s heart breaks with how sad Saeko seems. He casts down his eyes, “I am afraid it is impossible,” when he looks at her again, she looks as though she is about to cry, “Even when the shop is closed, I have many things to do. I am sorry.”

Yoshimoto’s exact words flow out of Souta’s mouth naturally, and he feels cruel, feels as though this does not befit him. But how much of what Saeko displays now is fake? How sad is she really? With her charm, she should be able to get anyone to help her.

That’s right. Men would line up to take her out like that, to ‘go out with her’ as she herself phrased it. And besides…

“That’s is right, of course you’re busy! I understand! Sorry for asking so suddenly.” Even though Saeko laughs, she still seems sad about it all, lonely even. Since Souta understands that feeling, it makes it even harder. She looks beautiful like this, beautiful as always of course. The expression on her face, the redness of her cheeks, Souta saves the image to his memory, knows he can use it for inspiration, however bittersweet, “Then, I will have two mousse au chocolat, please.”

“Thank you.”

As soon as Saeko is out the door, Souta starts counting the minutes. Time for the final part of this scheme, as even Yoshimoto himself phrased it. When Souta pulls out his phone, Yoshimoto’s smirk dances in his mind and it is his words that Souta hears in his head, the sentences softly spoken as he mentally practises. Yoshimoto’s words through Souta. Yoshimoto’s scheme. Souta reckons this explains just as much about Yoshimoto as a person as it does Souta himself.

“Souta-kun?” There is the sound of a railroad crossing, signifying where Saeko is. The noise makes the moment even more meaningful, perfect even.

“If it’s Wednesday next week, I would be available. Should we go out to shop?”

Such a roundabout way. So calculated and shrewd. Souta wants to laugh at himself, laugh with no mirth. He is astonished and impressed. By the situation and by himself. Just as Yoshimoto told him he would be. “ _You’ll get over that feeling.”_

And just as the tutor told him, the plan worked to a T.

 

It does not keep Souta from freaking out over what clothes to wear, though.

Yoshimoto is calmly sipping hot chocolate on a bar stool he pulled along from the back room to the working stations – Souta is not quite sure who showed him his way in – following Souta with calm amusement in his eyes as Souta paces back and forth in front of him, coming up with one alternative after the other, unable to figure out what outfit would be the better choice.

“Wear black.” He says then, making Souta stop in his tracks to look at him, “She usually sees you in your white working clothes, and although you are indeed handsome in that, a change will make you more appealing.” That makes sense, Souta supposes. He considers it while Yoshimoto keeps his eyes resting on him over the rim of his cup, even as he drinks, “Trust me on this one.”

 

* 

 

Wednesday arrives, and an odd calm has settled over Souta, despite how hard it was for him to sleep the previous night, with ideas and imagery of what would happen, fluttering in his mind. Now, that he is here, at the square where they agreed to meet, all of Yoshimoto’s advice is making Souta rather composed. Especially after witnessing how well the tutor’s plans worked the last time.

And when Saeko comes running up to him, dressed in a short skirt and high heels, and with her long hair dancing in the wind behind her, Souta’s eyes do not widen at the realization of how incredibly cute she looks. No, he is astonished that Yoshimoto’s prediction was so spot on.

_ “She is going to wear a short skirt. And probably high heels too, to be closer to you, so watch out and don’t let her throw you off balance.” _

He told Souta this so casually, explanatory as if it is the most obvious thing, as if it is completely logical. It is not, not to Souta. Saeko is a married woman, so is she naïve or is she incredibly shrewd? Souta from six years ago would bet on the former, but the Souta now, with Yoshimoto’s words in his head, is not so sure.

As a matter of fact, he is not sure of anything anymore. Aside from the fact that Saeko looks radiant.

“You look incredible, Souta-kun!” she tells him, smiling widely, “Although you are always handsome.”

Not wanting to let it get to him, Souta reins in the urge to chuckle in embarrassment, and simply thanks her, “Shall we go?”

The date does not turn out as Souta imagined. Far from the dream he had envisioned along with the thought of how he would have Saeko all to himself all day. And it is not so much because Saeko seems to use every opportunity she gets to get very close to Souta – at one point even touching her breast to Souta’s arm when she clings to him – or because she smells even sweeter than he thought she would, and it is not because the date itself is a failure. They manage to find a set of cups for Saeko’s friend, even go out for coffee afterwards, and all the while, Souta maintains his composure. Perhaps that is exactly why he seems to experience everything through a wall of glass, as if he is not actually around to feel the effects of being with Saeko. The words flowing from Souta’s mouth come out naturally, but they are not his. For everything that Saeko does and says, Souta finds himself with an advised option on hand, a series of words to say. It is as though he is trapped in a bubble, where words are whispered into his ear in a deep baritone, so close Souta sometimes thinks he can feel the breath of the owner against the skin of his nape. And those words seduce him and guide him, a constant presence all day.

Yoshimoto Kouya does not know Saeko. He is not supposed to have met her before, and yet, judging from the advice given beforehand, one would believe that he has been studying her for years, knowing everything that she is bound to do, knows how she is going to look at Souta, what tone she will use when speaking to him. And as the day progresses, Souta grows colder and colder.

Up until the day is about to end, and the two of them make their way through the station.

“Souta-kun?”

Souta is walking with his hands in the pockets of his jacket, careful not to be too close to Saeko. He turns towards her.

“Won’t you join me for tea? I also have some red wine, I received the other day.”

Souta’s heart skips a beat. Saeko is the one speaking to him, but another voice overlaps with hers in Souta’s head, Yoshimoto’s mocking smile momentarily swimming before his vision. Souta stops, blinking for a moment, “I’d love to greet Yoshioka-san, but its almost 10 pm. So, I should be heading-”

“He is not home.”

In Souta’s mind, Saeko has always been a bright, innocent creature, somewhat resembling a fairy, spreading light and sparks wherever she goes, leading to her having such a lasting effect on men – Souta included. But she has also always seemed ignorant of this, always come off as someone ignorant of how she can toy with the opposite sex. Except for those moments, where Souta has found himself thinking _what a horrible woman_.

But the Saeko in front of Souta now has dark eyes, eyelashes heavy over brown orbs, and her lips are relaxed, slightly parted as she holds his gaze, silence heavy between them. Souta’s heart starts beating faster and faster in his chest, making it hard to breathe.

No way. No way…

-

A sense of satisfaction courses through Kouya and settles as a pleasant shiver down his spine. 

Saeko is tempting Souta, just as Kouya predicted, and Souta is reacting just like Kouya hoped he would. With feelings conflicting, now that Kouya has told him exactly how this date would turn out, there is no way Saeko will be able to ensnare him like she used to. There is no way Souta will follow her home, even though his senses are screaming at him what the woman is implying, what he is in for, should he accept the offer for “tea”. Currently, Souta is confused and stunned, but also hurt. 

As Kouya watches their conversation from a distance, not hearing their words but watching their lips move, he perceives that Souta is indeed rejecting her, and that he is indeed throwing words back at her. 

Kouya reads “It is not really a date, is it?” and a wide grin spreads over his face. 

Souta looks as though he is in pain, trying his best to appear cold and expressionless, but to Kouya, he is utterly failing. With every word he says, his heart must be clenching, since he wishes for Saeko so badly, wanting her affection but not daring to hope for anything. Perhaps this will all go down faster than Kouya initially thought it would. Souta seems to be perfectly capable of getting the stone rolling, now that Kouya has given him just a little push.

What a good student.

Saeko leaves with her head cast down, eyes shining once her back is turned on Souta, and Kouya knows that finding her husband, Yoshioka, at home unexpectedly early and ahead of her will only make her more miserable. What kind of show would one be able to witness there, Kouya wonders.

Only a moment after, Souta walks towards another platform, towards a train that will not bring him home, and Kouya tilts his head. Of course, he will visit his model friend now. How else to pour out his scrambled emotions and receive comfort? Naturally, today will be the last time. Kouya plans on taking her away from Souta too. That will be the next step. 

Lowering his phone, Kouya takes a look at the photo he snapped, unable to hide his crooked smirk. If this is the expression Souta shows after receiving all that encouragement, only to realize the state of affairs and get hurt, it only makes Kouya want to cause him more pain, and sooner rather than later. He wants it so much, that he has to remind himself to stick to the plan. To ensure success.

Souta really is turning out to be more emotional than Kouya first perceived. And with dreams slowly starting to shatter in front of Souta, those emotions will come to haunt him.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Week two – Pain d’epices**

After last night at Elena’s place, Souta has to rush to work. He is hastily walking through traffic, occasionally running, knowing that he will be late no matter how fast he runs, and he will have to explain himself to Olivier and Kaoruko. As their boss, it is disrespectful to be late, and Souta hates it.

However, yesterday was necessary, to pour out all the pain at having rejected Saeko, at having realised exactly what game she may possibly be playing. At having had the chance, but not going for it, because he was advised against it, and because part of him knew that if he did just that, Saeko would have won. And she would completely stop being interested in him, having gotten what she wanted.

But, after all, none of that matters. Souta is addicted to the pain she inflicts on him, and it just makes his resolve to win her over stronger, his will to make chocolates, that she will long for and consume, occupying his mind like an illness, taking over every resolve and reason for his actions. This is what love does to man.

Panting, he rounds the final corner – ready to rush through the door – only to be greeted by the sound of a camera going off. Yoshimoto Kouya’s self-satisfied grin emerges behind the lens of his blue phone. He raises an arm above his head and waves, acting as though Souta is not standing just a few metres away from him.

“Good morning!” he greets, spirit high as always.

Souta takes a deep breath, reining in whatever he would have wanted to say, and instead grumbles a greeting back when he walks past the other man. Who is quickly on Souta’s heels of course.

“You are unusually late this morning,” Yoshimoto observes.

They make their way through the front door, bell chiming above their heads. Kaoruko is standing behind the desk, fitting chocolates nicely into the glass cabinets.

“I am really sorry for being so late, Kaoruko-san.” Souta apologizes, ignoring Yoshimoto. He is lucky Kaoruko does not know what clothes he wore yesterday, or she would know that he has not changed, since he was at Elena’s place.

“Don’t worry about it,” Even though she smiles at him, there are question-marks in her eyes, urging Souta to tell her what is wrong, why he is late. But he ignores it. He simply does not want to talk about it right now, and least of all with Kaoruko, who will most likely judge and berate him. Really, he does not need that right now.

“I expect you to compensate me for waiting so long.” When Souta stops in his tracks and turns around at Yoshimoto’s voice, his reply gets stuck in his throat, when he finds Yoshimoto mere centimetres from him, their noses almost touching. With a squeak that luckily only comes out as a gasp, Souta takes a step back. He runs his hands through his hair and sighs deeply.

“Kaoruko-san, make him a cup of coffee, would you, please?” With that, he leaves the room, hoping against all odds that the tutor will place his damn ass on a stool and wait for just a moment.

“Does it come along with chocolate cake?” the man inquires, just as the door slams shut behind Souta.

 

Since Souta came in late, he does not get to speak with Yoshimoto about the date yesterday, before Yoshimoto heads out to take care of his own work. On his way out, the tutor advices Souta to have a piece of chocolate cake himself, says it will improve his mood, and then shocks Souta by showing him a smile that is very much unlike any he has given Souta before. Soft, soothing even, as though Yoshimoto understands and is perfectly aware of what happened yesterday. It helps Souta through the day, he has to admit, along with telling Olivier and Kaoruko about his frustrations, not mentioning Elena of course.

But it also makes him regret being late. If Yoshimoto could show him such an expression, Souta imagines he would have been able to calm Souta even more and make him feel even better, had they had the time to talk. That thought makes Souta shake his head at himself, suddenly aware of his change of heart in relation to the man, forgetting what a creep he was to begin with, and how it is still odd how Yoshimoto seems to know so much. Souta tells himself to remain composed and distanced from the tutor. Considering how often Souta is too honest towards people already, so emotional that he talks when asked. Or even when he is not asked, as Kaoruko and Olivier have been the victims of. No one in the Koyurugi household does not know about Saeko. Hell, choco la vie is established in order for Souta to win her heart, more than it is established out of Souta’s interest in chocolates.

Which is wrong. And deep down, Souta knows this.

The day in the store is busy, leaving Souta little time to work on his plan for the ultimate pain au chocolat, since he is occupied with making batches of chocolates and mousse au chocolat for all the women who read Fujimoto’s blog. At one point, with a break in the queue in front of the store around 2 pm., Souta allows himself a small break in the backroom where he takes a deep breath and some water.

When he pulls out his phone, he finds a text message from Yoshimoto. In polite keigo which just does not suit the man at all, he tells Souta that he will have time to come by after work, around 3.50 pm., just before the store closes. He tells Souta he has some information that Souta might find valuable.

Souta resists the urge to roll his eyes. That man and his theatrics.

   
*

   
Kouya is in a good mood. It is going forward with the kid, his grades are rising faster than initially anticipated by his parents which has earned Kouya a fat bonus. But that money will not be used on that vacation to Hawaii that he has been considering for a while – damn he _really_ wants to go to Hawaii – but for more practical purposes.

Souta seems to be opening up to Kouya, to trust him with more information, and his emotions are becoming clearer. It is almost a shame that he came in so late this morning, despite how Kouya knew it would turn out as it did, since that only gave Kouya a glimpse of his pained expression up close. Which is exactly why something more needs to happen today. And then there is the matter of Souta’s model friend…

Yes, that bonus will come quite in handy.

At exactly 3:50 pm. Kouya steps through the door to a choco la vie that is fortunately empty of customers.

“Hiii~” he singsongs, successfully making both Olivier and Souta raise their heads and stare at him, “You didn’t call for me, but here I am. Tada~” Kouya does not let it get to him at all how he is smiling widely, but receiving no happy expression in return from either of them. That does not matter and does not affect his spirits. Instead, he steps right up to the desk and bows cheerfully.

“Good afternoon, Olivier-san. Souta-kun.” He nods at the latter, taking pleasure in the way Souta looks utterly confused and speechless.

“Good afternoon, sensei.” Olivier greets, and Yoshimoto turns his head from Souta to flash him a smile.

There is a redness on his cheeks and he speaks softer than usual. Seems Kouya was right regarding him and Souta’s sister. Well, might as well get that ball rolling too then.

“How is Matsuri-chan?”

Souta looks confused at Kouya, but Kouya has his eyes fixed on Olivier who blushes deeply, so much that his ears go red too, “Good~” Kouya singsongs and laughs, pushing himself away from the counter. He will let Olivier off the hook for now, “I’d like coffee while I wait for you to finish, Souta-kun.”

There is scepticism and alertness in Souta’s eyes while he remains silent. Which is a given, considering the text message Kouya sent him a couple of hours ago. Souta is waiting for Kouya to drop the bomb or to at least act upon the warning. Which in turn just makes Kouya wait even longer. The young chocolatier really is too amusing for his own good, Kouya cannot help but extend the wait. But Kouya’s amusement is not the only reason.

Souta has barely placed a tall cup of delicious-smelling black coffee in front of Kouya, staring at Kouya as though Souta is just about to ask him what Kouya remains yet to reveal, when the bell chimes behind him. From Kouya’s perspective, he catches sight of the customer before Souta does. And Kouya brings a hand up to his mouth to hide his grin. Here comes the important information.

“Saeko-san?”

One really cannot blame Souta for being surprised at seeing her so soon again. Anyone but he would be able to easily realise what game she is playing. The woman seems to have spent a lot of time on her looks; her hair styled, make-up perfect, wearing stylish clothes bought with her husband’s money: A white fur coat, long high-heeled boots. She pauses momentarily by the door, waving cutely and smiling softly at Souta.

Part of Kouya is amused, part of him wants to groan at how horribly fake she is. However amusing this game is, Kouya gets this chance today to be reminded of the second reason to why he is doing all this to begin with. Really, shrewd women like this one…

Souta hurriedly leaves Kouya’s table with a small bow to walk Saeko to the counter to take her order and make small talk. And Kouya can watch it all discreetly, while enjoying the amazing coffee choco la vie also serves. Kouya has got to give it to Souta, or whoever chose the coffee beans; they have great taste.

Since Kouya plays the role he does in Souta’s life, only Souta and the staff at choco la vie knows his true relationship with Souta and thus the reason for him so often visiting the store. If Saeko were to find out… Well, as amusing as it would be, it is way too early for that.

“You look very adult today.” Souta tells Saeko when he hands her the bill.

No bystander would recognise the intimate relationship between these two, and the love Souta bears for Saeko. Kouya is making sure of that with subtle manipulation.

“I have a date.”

“Enjoying time with your husband, I see.”

“Not with him.”

Kouya snorts softly into the cup he has halfway to his mouth. Damn, she is unfair. Since she is standing in front of Souta, Kouya cannot see his expression, but it must surely be one of astonishment. Even he must feel a tinge of regret and distaste at hearing those words out of her mouth and the insinuation they hold. She surely has not changed, since Souta met her for the first time.

Saeko seems to be holding Souta’s eyes for a couple of seconds too long, until she takes the black bag Souta is holding mid-air, frozen, and turns around, eyes remaining on him before she turns with a flutter of her hair.

Without her noticing, Kouya thoroughly studies the self-satisfied expression on her face, the spark in her eye when she walks out. He furrows his brow, unsmiling. Until Souta surprisingly steps up beside him.

“Damn.” His voice is soft, pained, “She has not changed at all. A woman like her…”

“She used you one day, only to dump you the next. How cruel…” Kouya drawls, intending on making Souta feel even worse and of course not telling him that Saeko is going out with her female friend and not a man at all.

“For how long does she intend to torment me?” Souta’s voice sounds strained, and he plops down on the chair in front of Kouya, to bury his head in his hands, “That damn woman…”

It pulls briefly in the corner of Kouya’s lips, “Get revenge.”

Souta raises his head, “What?”

“Get revenge,” Kouya repeats with mischievous amusement, “Show her that you don’t care and can have anyone. Make her see you with another woman.”

“I don’t think-”

“Right now, Saeko does not see you as an equal, she does not regard you as someone special. By being with another woman, she will question her own qualities, get jealous, and suddenly you will become someone special.”

Souta has raised his head and is now resting his elbows on the table, attentive, “You make it sound so simple. You think that will work on her?”

“Of course, it will. Especially on her, since she is someone who has always gotten everything she ever wanted. Or thought she wanted.” As a matter of fact, it will work too well.

“Maybe I know someone…” Souta throws his eyes down, pouts his lips, and Kouya notices the fat birthmark underneath the lower one.

Naturally, Kouya already knows whom Souta is thinking of, “Good.” He grins, “Introduce me to her next time.”

  
*

  
That night, Souta abandons the idea of creating pain au chocolat for Saeko.

Yoshimoto is sitting beside him, reading history books and occasionally flipping through his phone with a bored expression and his head resting in his palm. Souta has no idea why he insisted on staying after the store closed, and why he still remains despite Souta offering him very little entertainment. He even told Souta about how he is abandoning watching his favourite anime in exchange for watching Souta.

Souta has no time to indulge the tutor, instead sitting bent over several cookbooks to try and come up with an idea for the ultimate pain au chocolat.

Two hours and no results into the search, Souta groans and runs a hand over his face, “This is impossible! I can never succeed like this.”

“Hmm,” Kouya continues looking at his phone while he answers. His voice is slightly grainy from sleepiness. It is 10 pm. after all, “What would Rikudou-san think of you, if he knew you were giving up?”

Souta does not move.

“You are trying to measure up to him, aren’t you? Pull yourself together, if you want to become as good as he is.”

Ricdor serves dreams through its chocolates, according to the proud owner, Rikudou, and when one walks through the store, it does feel like walking into a dream. It appeals massively to mature women, who return periodically for Rikudou’s chocolates. The chocolatier is someone Souta looks up to and admires, someone Souta wants to be worthy of competing against, someone he wants to beat. That would prove that he can make Japan’s best chocolates. But there is no way he will be able to succeed in that with a plain pain au chocolat.

“Rikudou has managed to create a niche, to completely isolate his concept and be unique,” Souta realises as he voices it, recalling a conversation he had with the 10-year older chocolatier a few weeks ago. Souta inquired about his story, his vision and asked him for advice, the air between the two of them surprisingly warm. Even though they are rivals, competitors in this business, it did not keep Rikudou from encouraging Souta and offering him guidance, “But I told myself, after all he is 10 years older than me. His way of thinking is different, he has more experience…”

“You think age is an excuse?” The hard tone in Yoshimoto’s voice almost startles Souta, forcing Souta to look at him. “Age has nothing to do with the situation.” The phone is put away, and Yoshimoto’s arms are crossed, “Do you think Rikudou-san had the same thoughts when he was younger? Do you think that sort of thinking will get someone as far as he is now?”

Yoshimoto speaks like he knows Rikudou personally – as he has previously done with others – like he has spoken with the man like Souta has. But Souta does not consider the implications of such a possibility now, instead Yoshimoto’s stern words and the disappointment in his eyes – disappointment in Souta – makes Souta clench his teeth and stare right back at the man.

“How would you know-”

“This is about more than just producing a pain au chocolat that Saeko can eat, isn’t it? It should be!” Yoshimoto gestures towards the aluminium tables, the store, the open cookbooks and failed trial bakings, “Look at your store, at what you have managed in such a short amount of time. Don’t forget yourself and your vision in the face of a little misfortune and competition. You should, if anything, be fierier now, in the light of recent events.”

Yoshimoto’s scolding leaves Souta completely at loss for words. The man is neither looking amused nor self-satisfied, that signature grin nowhere to be seen. He is dead serious about what he is telling Souta, wanting Souta to listen. This is not like his previous advice for Souta. This does not concern Souta’s love situation, but Souta as a person, his dreams and goals. It is not something Souta would ever have imagined Yoshimoto would address or even care about.

He bites his lower lip, throwing his eyes down at the plain pain au chocolat at his side; tasty but bland and lacking the explosion of flavour, the experience Souta wants his customers to have. It lacks spark and surprise, it lacks maturity…

Yoshimoto sighs deeply, “I think I will just have time to read the newest volume of my favourite manga before I go to bed, if I leave now. So, good night Chocolate Prince,” out of the corner of his vision, Souta sees him hoist up his heavy-looking bag and put on his coat, “Don’t stay up too late.”

Even when he walks past Souta, Souta does not look up, the thoughts running quickly through his head while Yoshimoto’s words still echo fresh in his ears.

What is choco la vie’s advantage, Souta thinks, what makes this place special, what makes the customers return again and again? Saeko would not come back as often as she does just to see Souta. Definitely not. What does choco la vie have that Ricdor does not? Cakes and pastries for one. And those cakes and pastries are not traditional Japanese. They are exotic, created because of the six years Souta spent in France.

French cakes…

Suddenly, it comes to him. Like a lightning strike, the whole idea of a pain au chocolat is erased from Souta’s mind, hardly important anymore. He rushes out of the room, to the back, to reach for his sketchbook and a pencil. Saeko asked for pain au chocolat which she knows already. She asked for a taste she has tried before, something she thought of wanting. But what if Souta was to come up with something, an idea, a taste, before she even considered imagining how much she wanted to try that taste?

It will be unique and spiced, befitting the autumn weather.

Pain d’epices.

   
*

   
Pride dances in Souta’s eyes when he puts the plate down in front of Kouya, presenting to him a heavy, rectangular cake decorated with specks of chocolate, a cinnamon stick and some kind of dried starshaped spice. Given how Souta is obviously struggling to retain a smile, Kouya cannot help but look up at him, a big grin making its way onto his face.

“This is a surprise. What did you do? What about the ultimate pain au chocolat?”

“I quit.” Souta sits down on the chair opposite Kouya and leans across the table. Light is evident in his eyes now that he is so close, “This is pain d’epices with cinnamon and star anis. Try it.”

Kouya notes how Souta does not sound regretful at all about having to abandon the idea of pain au chocolat, which Saeko personally asked for. Instead, he sounds overly excited about his new creation. And Kouya has to admit he is surprised, both at Souta’s behaviour but also at the creation itself.

The cake is beautiful, looks simple, yet very delicious and mature. So of course, Kouya hurries and takes a bite. He is no expert on cakes and food in general, liking almost everything, but even he can appreciate the spices and subtle sweetness of the cake.

“It would go well with tea.” He tells Souta and watches the chocolatier nod.

“I thought so too. Something befitting the season.”

Kouya is about to treat himself to a second bite, when Souta continues, “I abandoned the thought of handing Saeko something she has asked for, something she wants,” his eyes get this faraway look, fixed on the creation between them, “Since that is the obvious choice, something she is used to, I came up with an alternative idea. I will give her something she wants before she even _thinks_ of wanting it, before she realises how she is longing for that taste. Something only I can predict and give her.”

Kouya puts the fork down on the empty plate and chews on the last bite. It no longer tastes special to him, “That’s good.” Using his signature phrase, he smiles crookedly, “Let us hope she falls in love with you when she tries it.” Kouya gets up and grabs the blue blazer from the back of the chair, “Thank you for the taste, I am heading to work.”

When Souta looks confused and blinks up at him, Kouya does not indulge him and simply bows his head. Perhaps the chocolatier had hoped he would stay longer, but Kouya believes there is not much more to say in this regard. They will just have to see what comes next.

But, a small part of him, as he walks briskly towards the Aoyama house, is disappointed.

Perhaps it is time to meet up with _him_.

  
*

  
It is noon, the busiest hour of the day, and Souta is out back making one batch of mousse au chocolat after another, rushing back and forth to temper chocolate and form truffles. The work is divided between him and Olivier, while Kaoruko and Matsuri man the store. Luckily for them, Souta’s younger sister had time after school to offer a helping hand.

But despite the rush and the buzz, and how Souta should be thrilled to see his store livelier than ever, the exchange between Yoshimoto and him this morning has Souta thinking of it non-stop. Not even his conversation with Olivier concerning the new pain d’epices, and how Souta plans to convince Saeko to buy it next time, has taken his mind off the stiff smile Yoshimoto gave him before leaving to tutor his student. And the worst part is, Souta has no idea why it bothers him so much.

Yoshimoto is per definition weird, someone Souta probably would never be able to predict or understand. Nevertheless, Souta prefers the smile Yoshimoto flashes whenever he sees something Souta does not, whenever he seems like he has some new scheme figured out, as opposed to the one Souta received today. Souta keeps asking himself what he did _wrong_ , for him not to be worthy of the usual teasing. And he had looked so much forward to showing Yoshimoto the new cake, the one he spent all night perfecting. Perhaps it is Souta’s desire to please and succeed which has him regret whatever he did wrong – he still does not know what – wanting to redeem himself.

In the end, he decides to let it go, in favour of focusing on Yoshimoto’s suggestion of making Saeko jealous. He will text Elena tonight once they close the store.

“Something on your mind?” Olivier is still brushing the chocolate cubes of cherry and chocolat au lait when he breaks the silence. And Souta chooses only to pause for a second before continuing to shape the black and white-rippled truffles in his hand before he hums in question, “You are quiet. Normally, you’d use this time to talk about Saeko.”

Souta cannot keep a smile from his lips, “I am just thinking of the current plan of making her jealous.”

“Yoshimoto-sensei’s suggestion?”

“Mm. I will talk to Elena tonight.” Souta straightens up, drying his hands in a nearby damp cloth before he moves on to coat the truffles in cocoa powder with gentle care, “What is the deal with you and Matsuri-chan?”

Souta never got to ask Olivier about it. And Yoshimoto clearly knows something that is important enough to earn Olivier a knowing grin.

Olivier immediately blushes to a deep red, his lips trembling, signifying how he is fighting a smile, “I didn’t want to hide it from you, Souta-kun.” He looks embarrassed at the confession, “Since she is your sister…”

Surprisingly, Souta does not mind at all that Olivier is in love with Matsuri. Since he is so busy with choco la vie and his own love life, he does not know much about whether Matsuri has a boyfriend or not or whether she would be interested in Olivier, but he finds himself easily entertaining the thought. He knows Olivier is a good guy, with a great name even, being the son of the world-renowned French patisserie, Pierre Tréluyer.

“Olivier.” Souta makes sure he has Olivier’s attention before continuing, “I don’t mind. As a matter of fact, isn’t she way below your standard? With your name and all.”

“Name has nothing to do with it Souta-kun. I love her.”

He looks so serious and determined, that Souta is temporarily stunned. And he was able to say those words so easily, making Souta curious as to how long Olivier has felt this way towards Souta’s younger sister.

“But you should have no problem winning her heart, right? You have experience after all.” Souta acknowledges, thinking of all the advice Olivier has offered Souta in relation to Saeko. Although that was before Yoshimoto offered to ‘tutor’ Souta in how to win Saeko’s heart. Since then, Olivier has been rather quiet in the advice compartment.

Olivier scoffs, and makes Souta feel very naïve with his reply, “Love is never that simple, Souta-kun.”

Gnawing at his bottom lip, Souta casts his eyes down, to watch how the cocoa powder hides the shapely, elegant chocolates in his hand. The brown powder covers the marble patterns of dark and white chocolate, leaving the person who eats the chocolate surprised at the contrast of colours and flavours once they take a bite, before they get a taste of strong, warm rum as it runs down their throat and makes them feel hot in their mouth and stomach.

“You are right. Love is completely unpredictable.”

 

**  
Week three – Black liquorice caramel, encased in diamond-shaped white chocolate, topped with a speck of dried lime zest **

Elena is excited beyond comprehension when Souta asks her to meet Yoshimoto the following Monday.

Upon the advice suggested yesterday by Yoshimoto, Souta does not disclose the information that he wants Elena’s help in making Saeko jealous. He will tell her afterwards that he called her down on that particular day, at that particular time, because Yoshimoto told Souta that Saeko will definitely show up. By this point, Souta knows it is pointless to question Yoshimoto’s ability to predict such things, instead going along with him and enjoying the benefit of it.

“I told him you wanted to meet him, since you share the pain of an unrequited love with me. It seems he does not mind giving you some advice.” Souta tells her over the phone.

Of course, Souta had to promise Yoshimoto a taste of his newest chocolates in return for the favour.

“I am so excited, Souta-kun!” Elena’s enthusiasm makes Souta smile, “You think he can help me meet Kurashina-san?”

“Maybe. He is a tutor, not a wizard.”

Elena laughs, “I will be there just before you close, maybe at three forty-five. I look forward to it!”

They hang up, and Souta remains staring at the bright display of his phone for a few seconds, a picture of the front of choco la vie, bathed in sunlight on the opening day, his wallpaper, with a soft smile on his lips. He is so lucky to have met Elena. With the help of her and Yoshimoto, he does not feel lonely in his bittersweet love.

He turns around to leave his small bedroom to head back downstairs to prepare dinner. And almost jumps in surprise, when he finds Yoshimoto standing there, phone raised in Souta’s direction. When he lowers the device, Souta finds him smiling widely.

“Yo.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Your father let me in.”

Souta is utterly astonished at the fact that Yoshimoto chose to show up _here_ , to walk to Souta’s room unannounced, “What do you want?” He realises it comes out rather harsh, his surprise and confusion affecting his ability to act polite.

“I wanted to discuss something with you.”

“You could have called.”

“I was in the neighbourhood.” Yoshimoto’s smile is starting to creep Souta out, “Come on.” Then Yoshimoto turns and heads down the staircase, acting as though this is not a client’s house, but his own, as though he has been here many times and is completely familiar with the layout.

Souta has no choice but to follow, unsure whether to discuss this matter with his father later. His first incentive is to definitely do so, before he thinks better of it. His father would just ask too many questions, probably berate Souta about this too-long-standing love to a married woman.

Once they make it downstairs to the living room, Souta finds his father seated at the table, newspaper in his hand. Matsuri is nowhere to be seen, and Yoshimoto makes his way through the room in a straight line, heading to the dining table, not at all shy or timid in another person’s house. And the worst part is, Souta’s father does not seem to mind at all.

Surely, this is Souta’s and his shared house, but Souta is suddenly incredibly aware of the fact that he is still living with his family. What if he ever was to bring Saeko with him? He would either have to make sure his sister and father were elsewhere, or he would have to find a place of his own before then. The realisation makes Souta think of the empty room above choco la vie.

Souta still has no idea of how long this plan of Yoshimoto’s will take, when Souta will succeed in his fight for Saeko’s heart. Perhaps he should ask Yoshimoto about it, now that Yoshimoto is here anyway. So that he can start planning when and where to move.

“Oi, Souta.”

His father’s voice makes Souta realise how long he has been standing still, by the foot of the staircase, just staring. When he looks from his father to Yoshimoto, he finds Yoshimoto staring back at him in equal measure, a soft, amused smile on his face.

“Sorry?”

“Would you mind preparing dinner? Matsuri-chan is out with her friends, so she won’t be joining us.” Just as Souta’s eyes flicker back to Yoshimoto, Souta’s father continues, “You are welcome to join us for dinner of course, sensei.”

“Huh?” Souta is not usually rude, but this is just-

“Gladly! Thank you for the offer, Koyurugi-san.”

Souta thinks he must be dreaming. His usually clever and slightly sceptical father inviting a stranger to dinner. What has Yoshimoto been telling him?

After sending a pointed glare in Yoshimoto’s direction – only earning himself a wider smile – Souta surrenders and grabs his apron from its rack by the door.

The kitchen opens into the living room space, and Souta will be able to listen in on any possible conversation between his father and Yoshimoto while he cooks. He notices how Yoshimoto takes off his dark blue blazer and hangs it on the backrest of the chair, a cream-coloured V-neck sweater underneath.

Souta fetches eggs, spring onions and tomatoes from the fridge and moves to the counter facing the living room.

“You also cook in this house, Souta-kun?” Yoshimoto asks.

Souta cuts the onions and the tomatoes into smaller pieces, focusing on the knife to avoid looking at the tutor, though through the corner of his eye, he can make out the blurry shape of him leaning his elbows on the table to watch Souta intently, “I do when I am not in the store. It often means a late dinner though.”

“We don’t mind. I am afraid I am better at baking cakes than cooking dinner. I have only a few recipes, I am any good at. And Matsuri-chan is rarely home.” Souta’s father explains.

“Is that so?” The darkness in Yoshimoto’s voice sends a brief shiver through Souta, and he focuses on whisking the eggs a little harder.

“I am not going to prepare anything special today either.” Souta reminds his father, “Since no one has been shopping to accommodate guests, it will just be a very simple dinner.”

Moving to turn on the stove, makes Souta turn his back to the two men at the table, to prepare the egg omelette and lightly fried vegetables.

“Oh, but Souta makes a very good tamagoyaki,” Souta cannot believe his ears at the enthusiasm in his father’s words.

Honestly, Souta cannot recall the last time, his father tried to put Souta in a good light like this. Maybe it has just been way too long since they have had guests. Matsuri is often out with friends, but rarely brings anyone home, and Souta has only brought along his colleagues, Olivier – who now also lives in the house – and Kaoruko for dinner, which is often because they need to discuss business related to choco la vie. Realising how he practically has no social life, Souta comprehends a possible reason for his father’s eagerness around Yoshimoto.

And Souta cannot help but turn and look at them, finding his father smiling and gesturing energetically as he tells Yoshimoto about Souta’s trip to Paris, how he always hoped Souta would take over his pastry store once he retired, how proud he is of how Souta has succeeded, how choco la vie has become popular beyond anticipation, “It must be because of the technology of today. Now, only one person needs to love the store, and the word will get spread around. Back in my time, it was all by word of mouth, and we had to work very hard to obtain a loyal clientele.”

His father blabbers on, and Souta cannot help but smile softly at him. What he has had to go through with his eldest son leaving for six years, having to take care of a rebellious daughter who always comes home late…

When he snaps back out of it, Souta is surprised to see Yoshimoto staring at him, brown eyes soft. There is no smile on his face, but something else. Something Souta cannot place, and he blinks rapidly, hurriedly turning back to his cooking, heat rising to his ears.

A few minutes later, Souta brings miso soup, egg and vegetables to the table and briefly walks back to the kitchen for the rice which was prepared right before he went to speak with Elena. And it feels odd, when he sits down beside Yoshimoto, having never imagined that Yoshimoto would ever come visit – unexpectedly – Souta’s own home. Souta is not quite sure how to feel about it.

“It looks good.” His father praises, smiling when Souta looks at him, “Well, let us eat.”

Souta finds that Yoshimoto is as big of an eater when it comes to food as he is when he eats cake. Though he eventually slows down in favour of following the mundane conversation concerning work between Souta and his father, he starts out by gobbling down the egg with happy exclaims of how delicious it is.

“You were right, Otou-san.” He tells Souta’s father with his mouth full of rice and egg, “This is very good!”

Souta struggles not to blush at the praise, hiding half of his face behind his bowl of rice, when Yoshimoto turns to him, eyebrows raised and smile wide.

Souta realises that he may as well have been eating with a complete stranger and not the tutor he has had for three weeks now. Yoshimoto seems like a completely different character, and whether it is because of the presence of Souta’s father or the food – or both – Souta is not sure. This version of Yoshimoto Kouya should be so much simpler and easier to be around, and yet, Souta finds him even more mysterious and off-throwing. Souta just really cannot tell what Yoshimoto’s motivation is. In the end, he tells himself to throw suspicions aside and go along with it, for tonight, for his father’s sake.

They finish dinner quietly, without any other major events, and when their plates are empty, Souta rises as the first of them,

“I will clean the table, you have a game to watch, right Dad?”

His father agrees, smiling at both of them, “Thank you Souta. Yes, it should be 5 minutes in now.”

He is referring to baseball, and being no enthusiast himself, Souta does not even know who is playing. Souta starts to gather the first batch of plates to go to the dishwasher.

“I will help.” When Yoshimoto gets up to offer Souta a hand, he remembers Yoshimoto’s excuse to be here. Not surprisingly, Souta still does not know what this ‘important’ matter could be, that it required Yoshimoto to show up in the late evening, in Souta’s room no less.

And as soon as Souta starts packing up the leftovers and put the plates and bowls in the dishwasher, Yoshimoto is standing beside him, his weight resting against the counter.

“You never told me who your female friend is. She is not just a friend, is she?” there is a wicked spark in his eye, a mischievous smile on his lips that Souta catches when he reaches for a glass to put in the top shelf of the machine.

With his face heating up – Souta is not sure why – it is an advantage that he is bent forward. He should not be embarrassed about his relationship with Elena. Perhaps it is the fact that Yoshimoto is so close Souta can smell his cologne, and the man will be able to pick up any small contraction in Souta’s face if Souta decides to lie. Souta also starts to feel self-conscious, with Yoshimoto looking so scrutinizing at him.

“Her name is Elena. She is a model. _A friend._ ” Souta’s voice comes out a mumble.

“Come on. Tell me~” Yoshimoto singsongs and pokes Souta’s shoulder.

Souta pauses in his work momentarily, to witness Yoshimoto’s good-natured expression. “It is really nothing.”

The tickling fingers at his shoulder become a vicelike grip, and Souta’s eyes snap wide open when Yoshimoto’s voice turns dark, his face changing completely. Every bit of jest is gone, “Tell me.”

With Yoshimoto’s eyes threatening and hard and aimed at Souta, he blurts it out, eyes held prisoner to Yoshimoto’s black stare, “We find comfort in each other. I guess she is a sex-friend.”

“Ohhh~. I see, huh.” The smirk is back on Yoshimoto’s face and he lets go of Souta, looking like the cat that got the cream. Every trace of the dark being from before is gone, “She must be very beautiful to measure up to Saeko-san. Now I am excited~.”

Souta suddenly feels very cold.

   
*

   
Elena is as beautiful as Kouya perceived her to be. Last time he saw her, it was from quite afar. She is dressed fashionably, makeup and skin flawless. When she walks through the door, there is no doubt about her confidence, her knowledge of her exotic beauty and what she can do to men. And women. Up close, the energy from the spunky model almost emits from her in waves once she starts talking. She greets Souta with a hug, almost squealing in delight and smiling brightly between Souta and Kouya as Souta does the introductions.

“Souta has told me much about you.” She discloses, earning a shushing noise from Souta, however gentle – he is clearly fond of her – and she makes a zipping motion with her elegant fingers against her mouth. She continues in a whisper, “Sorry. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

Kouya bows slowly at her, keeping his eyes on her very slim form, high heels making her legs seem even longer and more beautiful, and her perfume is subtle but sweet. She comes across as nothing but natural and genuinely happy, caring deeply for Souta’s welfare and quest for Saeko.

But Kouya immediately perceives that there is more to her than she lets on towards Souta and Kouya both. She keeps Souta close, Souta with an arm around her waist, and to the unknowing eye, this would be a clear sign of mutual attraction and of them being a couple. When Kouya explained as much to Souta, how it would be a good idea to send signals like this, Souta retorted that such intimacy is not an unnatural occurrence between him and Elena. Further explanation revealed to Kouya that Elena has travelled a lot in the west where skin-ship is a lot more natural even between female and male friends. And Kouya indulged him with a nod.

Witnessing their relationship and Elena’s behaviour now, it is clear once again that Souta is innocently naive.

“Souta-kun tells me you share the same emotions towards someone as he does towards Saeko-san?” Kouya asks then, tilting his head.

Elena puts a finger to her lips and gazes upwards with a pout to her lips. Her nails are adorned by layers of nail polish and crystal, probably costing a lot to make and keep as neat as they are, “Kurashina-san is the drummer in a band. I met him when I appeared in one of their music videos,” Elena sighs and when she looks at Kouya it is with sparks and love in her eyes, “He is so dreamy. Manly and kind. I really want to meet him and talk with him.”

“Just that? You have no plans to win his heart? Not like the ambitions of the Chocolate Prince?”

Elena grins at the nickname and turns to Souta, who rolls his eyes and sighs in exasperation.

“For me, it is enough to get the chance to speak with him again. Although, I do often imagine a scenario where I confess to him, and he admits he had feelings for me too!” Elena wraps her arms around herself and looks close to squealing, “And then we would go out, hand in hand, and be so lovey-dovey, and I would come to every one of his concerts.”

Now Kouya understand why she and Souta get along so well. He snorts and looks between the two of them, getting eye contact with Souta for a brief moment, “That would be nice, huh.” Kouya agrees, albeit unable to hide how he definitely believes her dreams to be a little…, “What if he gets jealous about your modelling?”

“Ehh? Hmm…” Elena pouts her lips again, and Kouya thinks it must be a habit for her, appearing cute, “Jealousy can be good. I wouldn’t want him to think he does not need to fight for me.” She laughs pleasantly, shooting Souta another look.

However pleasant and spunky this woman seems, her intentions apparently entirely innocent, she definitely feels more towards Souta than simple affection because of shared pain.

“So, sensei,”

“Hm?”

“You must be pretty experienced yourself. Do you have a lover?”

Kouya smiles pleasantly.

And just then, the door behind Souta and Elena opens, in perfect timing – of course – according to plan. When the two of them turn, Elena with Souta since he has an arm around her waist still, Kouya hurriedly sits down at his table and picks up his coffee cup and phone, to not appear to have been part of a verbal exchange at all, and poses as simply a customer.

“S- Souta-kun?”

Kouya peaks over the phone between sips of coffee, eagerly awaiting the new chocolates Souta told him about letting Kouya taste if this little plan is successful. Which, of course, it will be. It has all been planned out way ahead of time, after all.

“Saeko-san. Welcome. Can I help you?”

He does not dare look, with the risk of being caught doing so, but Saeko is undoubtedly looking between Souta and Elena now, contemplating her answer and trying to analyse the situation, to figure out the relationship between Elena and Souta. Souta’s fingers are twitching slightly in their hold on Elena, and Kouya knows Souta is fighting himself and the wish to let go of Elena, to explain himself in panic, _that Elena is just a friend, that there is nothing going on_. But he cannot do that. He is not allowed to.

He must follow Kouya’s plan, or there will be consequences.

An ultimatum was set three days ago, in Souta’s kitchen, right after dinner. _Fail to keep your cool with Saeko-chan and you will do exactly as I say anytime, afterwards. You will become my dog._

Knowing he has used that exact line in the past with one of his students, forces Kouya to hold back a grin. Well, it was incredibly successful the last time. Why not this time too?

But so far, Souta is acting exactly as instructed. As a matter of fact, he is an incredibly good student. By all means a pleaser, Kouya perceives. He is however, bound to make a mistake. Souta is not used to this, not used to having the eyes of both Elena and Saeko on him, while feeling the additional pressure of Kouya’s presence. He is going to break.

Souta and Saeko have moved to the desk, where they speak in hushed voices, Souta moving around to take Saeko’s order. A few steps from Kouya’s table, Elena stands still, left behind now that Souta’s attention is on a customer. She smiles faintly, and a slump is visible on her shoulders. Kouya almost feels bad for her. Had this not been a test, a scheme, how would Souta have acted?

“I will be leaving.” She says then, making Souta pause what he is doing, while Saeko waits a couple of seconds before slowly turning.

Her eyes are dark and heavy-lidded, hate clearly aimed towards Elena. Which just makes the model straighten her back and smile widely – all signs of being left behind, gone. Elena raises her hand to blow Souta a bold kiss.

“See you soon, Souta-kun.”

And Kouya has to turn away, because he cannot resist smiling, his cheeks hurting in the effort not to laugh. This, Souta definitely had not expected. It comes as no surprise to Kouya, when he turns back, to see Souta fumbling a bit, cheeks powdered lightly pink. When Kouya looks a little closer, he realises _yup, he is stuttering_.

“Say, um, say hi to your husband.”

“Ok.” Saeko tilts her head, her curls dancing around her shoulders, “I will come back soon, Souta-kun. Wait for me.”

And then she walks out with long, elegant strides and Kouya feels like snorting at her. _So obvious._

It is also obvious that Souta did not stick to the plan. And he knows, and he hates himself for it. It is all over his face and his posture, frozen and cast-down, once Kouya turns back and catches his wide eyes from across the desk.

Kouya’s crooked grin extends across his face, “Good.”

 

  
*

 

  
The house in front of him is as big as he thought it would be. As expected of a wealthy editor. The man in the house is not home now, though, luckily.

Kouya smiles to himself and walks naturally up to the fence and rings the doorbell.

Saeko’s voice comes over the receiver, “Yes?”

“This is Tago Yuudai. I am looking for Saeko-san?”

“Y- yes? I will be right there.”

Stepping back, Kouya lets his eyes wander over the fine white walls of the house again, the nicely kept flower-garden out front that Saeko no doubt can take no credit for. He snaps a photo of it. And just as the door in front of him opens, he raises his phone to Saeko as well, catching her confused expression and nicely styled hair and makeup through the camera lens.

So early in the morning, alone in the house and she is already dressed up in a short dress and plenty of makeup?

“Yes?”

She does not recognize him at all, and Kouya is not surprised.

“Good.”

The game can now begin.  
  


 


	3. Chapter 3

It has been four days, and Souta has not heard from either Saeko or Elena. He wonders if the latter has misunderstood the situation, despite the explanation Souta offered on phone the following day. Elena did not seem to have minded, actually, she seemed thrilled about the plan, laughing at the situation and telling Souta not to worry, she was happy to help. Furthermore, she told Souta how handsome and charming she found Yoshimoto, “No wonder you agreed for him to tutor you. I would have said yes without a second’s hesitation!” Elena told him.

But Elena also witnessed a very well-behaved version of Yoshimoto Kouya that day. Towards Souta, he started out being the creepy customer, who ate his cake too fast, who kept bothering Souta and asking weird questions. He is also the guy who showed up unannounced a few days ago, basically inviting himself to dinner at Souta’s place. 

He is weird and unpredictable and shrewd, and Souta has no idea what goes on in that mind of his. So, unlike Elena, Souta is still cautious around him. Especially now, considering the current situation. Only this time, Souta’s hands are tied.

“So, what do you want me to do?” Souta tries to be as bold as possible in asking the question, really not liking the thought of having to do exactly what Yoshimoto says for … How long again? Yoshimoto never mentioned any specific details regarding time.

“You are my dog.” It annoys Souta how easily the tutor smiles. Bastard is so self-satisfied.

“And that entails? Are you not supposed to give me an order then?”

“All in due time,” Kouya looks up at him after chewing thoughtfully on Souta’s newest white chocolates. “Unless you are that eager to take my orders? - This chocolate is really good.”

Three weeks ago, Souta would never have had the audacity to roll his eyes, but he does then. Yoshimoto is just too much, and Souta cannot believe he is the one to bring up the topic, making him appear to be eager to take the punishment of a lost bet. “Thank you.” Souta grumbles and takes the empty plate to bring it to the back.

For the tenth time that day, he checks his phone in the back room once the plate is in the dish-washer, still worried that Saeko might be mad at him, despite how she told Souta to wait for her four days ago. He tells himself, before he turns the screen on, that if she has not sent him a message, he will tell her about the new weekly chocolate which he has been working on, and that it will be perfected for tomorrow, and that he wants for her to come and try it. 

Yoshimoto will probably be against the act, but what Yoshimoto does not know, cannot hurt Souta. 

Now that he has made up his mind, Souta is stunned to find that Saeko actually has sent him a message. An hour ago, it seems. Naturally, he wastes no time and opens it. Unfortunately, the message is not what Souta hoped it would be. As a matter of fact, it leaves Souta with mixed feelings that make him go straight back to Yoshimoto who is sitting in their ‘workshop’ instead of at the customers’ tables in the shop, which he has done for the past week now. Souta has stopped minding, seeing the benefit of them being alone with their conversations. 

Yoshimoto is swiping randomly across his phone screen, while chewing on his lip, seemingly deep in thought.

“Saeko-san messaged me.” Souta blurts out without hesitating. Yoshimoto looks up, but does not change his relaxed posture. “She is being exposed to blackmail.”

“Oh?”

He is not sure what he expected, but it was probably more than the disinterested behaviour Yoshimoto is currently displaying. It makes Souta falter in his confidence of confiding in Yoshimoto.

Souta tries elaborating further, feeling rather awkward as he stands in front of the tutor, “That must be why I have not heard from her in four days.” 

“You were gonna message her, weren’t you?” 

“I-”

“I cannot allow that.” The statement, said with an underlying threat stuns Souta into silence.

In front of him, Kouya finally straightens and puts his phone away in his inside pocket. He gets up with his head slightly tilted, and walks towards Souta slowly, his eyes piercing. The darkness in his face, in his words have Souta backing away from him, as if on instinct, until the way is blocked by one of the big aluminium tables. Souta is slightly taller than Yoshimoto, but Souta feels smaller than ever. 

His father never scolded him like this, but Souta does remember the feeling of being cornered by a group of delinquents in school, how it felt to be like a cornered rat, knowing that their strength was so much greater than his own, offering him no way of being able to fight back, should they throw the first punch. However, their terrifying stares and threatening, harsh voices were worse than being hit. 

There is a major difference in the air surrounding Yoshimoto now though. His intention is neither bullying nor hurting, rather he appears highly domineering, threatening Souta into submission.

“I- Sorry.” The words are out of Souta’s mouth before he can stop them, and he immediately hates himself for the display of weakness.

But it helps. Yoshimoto’s shoulders immediately relax and his eyes soften, a smile appearing where seconds before, there was a straight, hard line. If Souta did not know any better, he would believe that what just happened was purely part of his imagination. 

Yoshimoto steps back and Souta is allowed space to push away from the table he almost crawled onto, in his attempt to escape. 

“To think she would confide such a thing to you. She must trust you a lot, Souta-kun.”

Souta does not immediately understand what Yoshimoto is talking about. Then he remembers. Funny, it seems so unimportant now, “I wonder who would do such a thing.” At any other time, he would have been surprised by the fact that he did not get excited or thrilled at what Yoshimoto pointed out to him. The observation seems almost lost on him, the words meaningless. 

“Is it related to her husband?” Yoshimoto wonders.

“I don’t know.”

“Hm.”

Yoshimoto’s eyes run over Souta’s form, and Souta is painfully aware of the scrutinizing feel to the stare, feeling a blush creeping up his neck when Yoshimoto smiles crookedly. Knowingly.

 

**  
Week four – The Garnet: Chocolate au lait with hidden crushed peppercorn and lime ganache in the shape of a brushed red oval **

Souta cannot help the brooding feeling of something having gone terribly wrong. The event of last week which was supposed to have been a major breakthrough seems to have been more of a breakthrough for something other than moving closer to Saeko. Reflecting, Souta thinks that maybe things went downhill after Yoshimoto came to visit Souta in his own home. Now, it feels like Souta cannot move at all without being guided by an invisible hand. 

Instead of Saeko moving closer to Souta, Yoshimoto has been the one moving closer. In a great leap this time, instead of sneakily advancing. Through the three days of the week so far, Souta has found Yoshimoto beside Souta’s workbench, keeping a watchful eye on Souta through the production of chocolates, mousses, cakes and the chocolate tart that always makes Yoshimoto rise to attention and breathe down Souta’s neck, silently begging for a taste. 

Often, Souta feels Olivier and Kaoruko watching the two of them and Yoshimoto’s antics in wondering silence, feels their exchange of looks, but they never say anything, and for that Souta is grateful. In hindsight, he could have easily pushed Yoshimoto away, out of the kitchen, out of his life, but Souta does not find himself really entertaining the thought. Even if the contract and their agreement had not been as strictly in place as it is, he would not have pushed Yoshimoto away. And for the time being, he does not have an answer to why that is. 

“Here, stuff your face with this.” He says and sticks a red, oval chocolate into Yoshimoto’s face, once the tutor has been annoying him for ten minutes.

Yoshimoto backs off a little and takes the chocolate between two of his fingers. With no further question, he pops it into his mouth. But instead of walking back to his stool, he rests his underarms against the counter beside Souta and learns forward. From his position, Souta sees him getting eyecontact with Kaoruko who looks far from pleased at having a non-employee in the same workspace.

“Don’t you have to tutor a student today?”

“Why, I am.”

“Your middle-school student. Aren’t his exams soon?” Kaoruko narrows her eyes at Yoshimoto, and Souta knows Yoshimoto is in for a scolding, when she lowers her utensils, “You cannot loiter around here all day. You are distracting! We have a lot of work to do, and you are in the way!”

Where anyone would have been surprised and immediately done as she says – that is the influence Kaoruko usually has in the kitchen – Yoshimoto simply breaks into his signature smile, his creepy catchphrase this time aimed at Kaoruko.

“Good. You are quite the matriarch in this store, aren’t you Kaoruko-san?” Yoshimoto pushes away from the counter and turns cheerfully first to Olivier, then Souta, “Well, she’s not entirely wrong though, I better be on my way. I’ll see you later, Souta-kun.”

And then he grabs his bag and walks out of the store as naturally as if he had done it for years on end in the same pattern, with those annoyingly swinging arms of his, and the bag bumping against his backside. 

Kaoruko sighs, “Seriously. I don’t get that guy at all.”

Souta stays silent.

 

It is only three hours later that Souta gets a shock, witnessing something that makes him wish he had taken the day off. 

She might be trying to hide it with a hat, but there is clearly a bruise above Saeko’s left eye, something Souta notices the moment he raises his eyes and catches sight of her behind the counter, seemingly waiting for him to notice her. She waves energetically, smiling, as though putting up a front, hoping Souta will not notice something is different.

For a moment, he hesitates, unsure whether to go to her or continue his work to avoid confronting her. When he reminds himself that he should always be eager to talk to her, he goes to wash his hands and walks into the store. Kaoruko throws him a look when he takes over where she had offered help.

The possibility that Saeko had asked for Souta personally makes his heart momentarily flutter.

“Saeko-san. How are you?” he greets her, and she smiles in return from under the low shade of her hat.

“Un, I am good.” Clearly lying, she casts her eyes down and pretends to be looking at the chocolates, “Souta-kun?”

“Yes?”

“I was wondering if you would make my birthday cake?”

Oh. 

Souta suddenly feels a little dizzy. How could he forget Saeko’s birthday? Every year he has remembered and thought of her; come up with a dream scenario of sharing cake with her, watching her blow out the candles and smile brightly at him. He has always wanted to share that moment with her and been sad that someone else were with her on that day. And this time is no different, is it? This year…

“Sure! Of course! Will you be celebrating with your husband?” Souta mentally hits himself for sounding too excited and nervous, imagining Yoshimoto’s narrowed eyes, had he witnessed this. _Calm yourself, Souta._

He quickly finds a piece of paper to scribble down the details, “For the 22nd, right?”

“You remembered! I am so happy.” Her smile is blinding in its innocent charm which just makes it worse that Souta actually did not think of it until this moment.

Part of him is relieved that he did not have to face anxiety of whether she would come ask for a cake at choco la vie, part of him is disappointed that he missed the butterflies those imaginary scenarios usually bring along. He realises he has not made up any of those for a while.

“I will have the cake ready for you on the 22nd,” he promises and looks back up at her, “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

Souta watches and moves in a dreamy state of mind while Saeko picks out various chocolates and a pain d’epices to bring with her home. _All for her husband to share with her._ He tells himself, he cannot be in any way salty about it, considering how much Saeko always buys. She is one of the best and most loyal customers of choco la vie, and Souta is lucky that she comes around so often.

“Oh, is that your new chocolate, Souta-kun?”

A stab sensation goes through Souta’s stomach when he sees what Saeko is pointing at. It is The Garnet, one of the few chocolates Souta has actually given a name.

“Yes. It is.” He smiles, but his voice sounds hollow.

Why is that? All chocolates are inspired by Saeko, and it is the love for her that Souta pours into the chocolate with every stroke of his metal utensils through the thickening mass during tempering. Every step of the way, he thinks of Saeko. Of her fluttering hair, her beautiful, pale skin, her full lips and her cheerful smile.

Does he not?

“Ohh! I have to try it. Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Souta swallows, and Saeko must have seen something on his face, because her smile falters. He hurries and explains himself before she starts thinking she has done or said something wrong,

“Ah, sure sure. But it is with peppercorn and lime, so I am thinking it may be too spicy for you Saeko-san,” he mumbles but nevertheless grabs the thongs to place one of the shiny red chocolates in the 20-piece box, he is holding.

“You made it, so I am sure it will taste amazing.” Saeko says, placing faith in his abilities with a smile, “It is so pretty…”

The chocolate definitely stands out amongst the others in the cabinets. For one, it is bigger, and its deep red colour pops like fireworks, in the same way as the peppercorn and lime feels on the tongue. With it, Souta wanted to cause an impact, he wanted something with more power against the amazing creations that Ricdor makes. With the romantic designs of most of his chocolates, he wanted a sharp contrast to underline the pain of being in love, the harshness and cruelty of it…

“I hope you will enjoy it.”

With two bags of various chocolates and cake, Saeko waves and leaves the store. And Souta is left with a tangle of confused emotions. 

He has been so sure of choco la vie and its purpose. So sure, that the store was made because of his love for Saeko, that all that is created within is for Saeko to consume; for her to consume Souta’s love, with the hope that she would notice and become addicted to thinking of him, every time a part of his soul enters her mouth… 

Souta shakes his head at himself. Such a vile and obscure way of thinking. But it is better than the mess his thoughts are now. What is the purpose of it all when he cannot even feel that heat coursing through his body when he sells a piece of chocolate to Saeko? Where has that warmth gone?

   
*

   
“Today, we are going to follow Saeko-san and her husband on a date.”

“We are spying on them!?”

Kouya is eternally amused at Souta’s astonishment, knowing there is nothing Souta can do about it. He shrugs, “You could call it that.”

“I can’t do that!”

Kouya tilts his head, eyes firmly holding onto Souta’s, and then raises his eyebrows, expectantly. Slowly, Souta pales as realisation hits. 

“I am afraid you have no choice. You are to do exactly as I say.”

“But-”

“No but’s. Be a good dog now. Come on, or we won’t be on time.” Kouya does want to hear Souta bark, but perhaps that is crossing the line for the time being. He grabs a firm hold of Souta’s wrist and practically drags him out of the house, towards the direction of the centre of town in which he knows exactly where Saeko is going to be dining in less than 30 minutes. 

“Wait- What about the store?” It is surprising how little resistance other than his words that Souta offers. He lets Kouya drag him along, does not even try to shake off his hand. He even complained very little when Kouya told him to change into his private clothes.

Kouya smirks, “Olivier and Kaoruko will handle it. Matsuri-chan is also helping.”

“Matsuri-chan?”

Kouya speeds up and hears Souta stumble along with him until he gets used to Kouya’s pace. At that point, Kouya lets go and with less of a burden, he can speed up further.

Souta is clearly surprised at how Kouya managed to convince Souta’s younger sister to help in the store, “But my sister has exams next week. And Kaoruko-san never lets me slack off like this. I am the manager.”

“Well, Kaoruko did complain. But she was a minority. I did both Olivier and Matsuri-chan a favour, so they owed me.”

“A favour?”

Souta is going to be surprised when he gets home. Playing the game of love really is all about moving the right pieces to the right places on the board, just like any other game.

Kouya chuckles, “Come on. We are almost there.”

Once they reach the area, Kouya walks around the back, towards a set of cherry trees with dark green leaves. They should be well hidden from here, and the spot allows them to look straight through the window of the restaurant, right at the place where Saeko and her husband will be seated in – Kouya lifts his left hand to take a look at his watch – 3 minutes.

“Sensei, seriously. What are we doing here?” Souta whispers to his left, although he has already mirrored Kouya’s slightly crouched pose.

“We are observing.”

“I know! But really, we have no right to spy on them.”

Kouya turns around to face Souta, expression serious. He grabs Souta’s shoulders, “Do you want to win Saeko-san or not?”

“Of course, I do but-”

“Then do as I say.” With that Kouya pats his shoulder once and then brings a finger to his lips to gesture for Souta to be quiet, “Now shh. They are here.”

And not a moment too soon. In the window, they catch sight of Saeko and Yoshioka getting seated across from each other, a rare lunch for the couple together, Kouya knows. But this is no ordinary lunch. Her husband is only taking her out because questions must be answered.

“Good~” 

Souta’s body-heat moves closer to Kouya’s as curiosity gets the better of his morals, and he peaks through the trees. A silent, brief smile moves over Kouya’s lips. 

There are so many things the chocolatier has yet to realize, with the plan entering its final stages. After today, Souta will be utterly out of depth. There will be no going back after that. The fact that things are starting to change on Kouya’s end too, is however, very unexpected.

They watch on in silence while the couple get their drinks and make their orders for the meals. So far, nothing seems to be off, but Kouya does not expect it to be conveyed so easily through body language either. He does not want Souta to misunderstand, of course, so he has been pulling more than a few strings to make the muted conversation between Saeko and her husband seem natural and romantic. Quite opposed to what it really is.

Only Kouya knows how the couple has been receiving mails from unknown sources of Saeko having an affair with a younger man. And only Kouya knows exactly who has been sending those mails, messing up their marriage, their relationship and their reputation. Since, of course, the mails have not only been distributed to Saeko and Yoshioka. In fact, the entire neighbourhood knows of Saeko’s fake affair now. While Yoshioka knows nothing more than what the rumours tell – that being enough to taint his reputation at work and make him blame Saeko for it all, regardless of whether she is innocent or not – Saeko was offered help from an unexpected source just ahead of when the rumours came out. Safe to say, she is in a very exposed and risky position. 

She did, after all, agree to let Tago Yuudai help her see her secret crush and plan to eventually start an affair with him, all without her husband’s knowledge. He is never home, always working, and desperate times call for desperate measures, to secure her happiness. Oh, but that would not do, would it? _Not at all._

Tago Yuudai learned that Saeko has been in love with Souta since the very beginning, since she started having trouble with her husband, or perhaps even before that. And Souta never knew. He _never_ knew. That knowledge, to Kouya, is just so damn pleasing. It is hilarious and thrilling and just _too damn good_. Who is the greater idiot? Saeko, for not realising how Kouya is pulling the rug from underneath her, or Souta, who is too thick and too caught up in learning how to be a bad boy to see what is right in front of him?

The final step, is just to push Saeko over the edge, for her life to become a complete wreck. Really, women like her are the worst, and deserve the worst. And so, Yoshimoto Kouya is more than happy to provide that fate for her. She will be left alone, divorced and with no friends, her reputation utterly ruined and tainted. That is the plan, at least.

As for Souta… Well, Kouya will deal with his aftermath. In an entirely different way. 

Kouya reads their lips through the window and cannot hold back a sudden snort. Souta turns to him; Kouya can feel his eyes on the side of Kouya’s face. But he turns back soon after and continues watching,

“Do you think…” 

“Hm?” 

Souta licks his lips when Kouya finally looks at him, “Do you think she and I would make a good couple?”

Kouya shrugs and turns away again, “Who knows.”

“I think- I think she and Yoshioka look good together.” His voice is small, the words hesitant, making Kouya turn to him again. There is a look of resignation and defeat in his eyes, but something else too. Determination and… Self-confidence. “Good~.” 

The look Souta shoots him then takes Kouya slightly off guard. Souta is angry at Kouya for forcing him to see this, but he is also angry at Saeko, for having married someone else, for leading Souta on despite of it, and he is angry at himself for not realising sooner.

_ Splendid. _

“I think I have seen enough now, Yoshimoto-san. I am going back.” 

Souta straightens up and prepares to leave, but Kouya immediately grabs his arm. “We are not leaving before I say we are.”

Souta’s eyes turn hard. And Kouya chuckles to take the seriousness out of his previous words. There is no reason to stay any longer.

 

*

 

They end up going back to Souta’s house. Yoshimoto has shown Souta what he wanted it seems; gotten the desired effect and seen the outcome. 

Souta is no longer in a state of confusion. Rather, he feels an emptiness and lack of motivation, of inspiration. The first chair he sees in the living room, is the one he flops down in. It is big and soft and the room is so nice and quiet. He closes his eyes.

“So, what are you going to do now?”

Souta is forced to open his eyes again, faced by Yoshimoto, who stands across from him, arms crossed. His presence in the house is the only one, aside from Souta. With Olivier and Matsuri looking after the store and his father out somewhere else, Souta has the house to himself. He cannot remember the last time that happened, given how busy he has been. And it was all for Saeko. _How stupid._ When he should have worked hard for himself, not for others.

“I don’t know.” He confesses, “I suppose I do not need your help anymore. Don’t worry, I don’t think there was anything you could have done with a useless man like me. I am not fit to become a bad boy. That is not me.”

Souta sees the spark in Yoshimoto’s eye too late, and is confronted with the fact when Yoshimoto is suddenly in his space, hands resting on the armrests of Souta’s chair, so close Souta can feel Yoshimoto’s breath on his face, smell him, and watch his lips move into a smile, “You are right. But what now, then? Will you give up choco la vie? Will you give up on love? And your ambitions?”

“I cannot win Saeko, but I cannot betray her.”

Yoshimoto’s dark eyes narrow, and Souta immediately knows he said the wrong thing. With the smile gone, Yoshimoto looks like a man about to kill, “What does that mean? If you are in love, you cannot embrace anybody else? Do you mean to live alone forever?” Yoshimoto growls, his hand swift when he grabs onto the collar of Souta’s shirt, to pull him forward.

Yoshimoto tilts his head, and Souta gasps. Their lips are centimetres apart, and Souta feels very hot. 

_ What? What is this? _

“If you give up now, you go down with your dignity, and I will not allow that. Not for a woman like her. You are better than that.” The last words are spoken with venom, and this is so far from the man, Souta has come to know, he is stunned into silence.

Caught in the pools of darkness that are Yoshimoto’s eyes, Souta feels lost for breath. And nothing else seems to matter but this moment. How odd. 

Yoshimoto continues, although distance is brought back between them when he lets go of Souta, lets him fall back into the chair. Lets him feel pathetic and hate himself for feeling like this. For a woman. Souta has never been one to give up, but last time he went to Paris. to grow and become someone else. Perhaps, that is the option this time too.

“Go back to your store.” When Souta does not move, Yoshimoto repeats himself, “Go back to your store! Our contract still holds, and you do as I say.” 

There are hands at his collar again, and this time, Yoshimoto pulls Souta out of the chair, making Souta stumble and knock into the man, struggling in the hold, “I don’t care about the contract, leave me alone.”

It is enough, it is more than enough now, it is too much. He needs to get his thoughts untangled, he needs to find himself and his purpose again. He needs to be alone, and this tutor has been pulling him around for long enough, like a dog on a leash. Souta just cannot handle any more today. Can Yoshimoto not understand that? If he is so intelligent, can’t he see the pain in Souta’s heart?

With a growl in anger, Souta grabs onto the hands holding him, pulls at them to let him go, but then he somehow loses his balance, trips over nothing, over the unseen, and he ends up on the floor with a loud thud. And he gasps at the pain in his back, at the blackening of his vision when a weight falls down on top of him, hands thwacking at the floorboards, to withhold a body from crushing Souta underneath its weight. Upon realisation of his position, Souta’s first instinct is to push at whatever is in front of him, and his hand comes into contact with firm muscle.

Breath is in his ear, soft flesh ghosting over his lips. And then the world comes back into focus, his dizziness evaporating slowly. Yoshimoto’s eyes swim into view. So deep and dark. Like the darkest chocolate Souta has ever seen, molten and alive.

“Get off me.” 

A whisper. Nothing remotely strong enough to serve its purpose, and fingers weave through Souta’s hair, a thumb strokes below his chin, over his mole.

“What a disobedient dog.”

Souta feels a strong shiver running down his spine, like a tremor settling in his bones, and he closes his eyes, forgets to breathe. He does not realise it is so, until the weight is gone, the strong presence and warmth moving away. 

“Seriously...” Despite Yoshimoto moving away, Souta does not move to get up. His body is buzzing, it is on fire, his mind a big, black space of nothing, “I am leaving.”

 

  
*  
  


 

Choco la vie is Souta’s safe haven. It is where he usually goes to reassemble his thoughts, to pour it all into his chocolates as a way for his emotions to materialize and get off his burdened shoulders. It is 3 am., and he is preparing what they usually meet at 6 am. to do: The tempering chocolate, the making of the chocolate mousse and the pastry for the chocolate tarts. The techniques are so naturally integrated in him, that he need not think while he prepares each component to be assembled come morning, for the goods to be as fresh as possible for the customers. 

What Yoshimoto showed him yesterday is not supposed to have Souta give up on Saeko. He has been exposed to so many other unpleasant sights and experiences, so many rejections as when Saeko got back together with her ex-boyfriend, when Saeko found a more interesting guy than Souta, when Souta sank so low as to declare six years ago that he would not mind being just a rebound, someone for Saeko to exploit whenever she felt lonely, whenever she just needed company – he wouldn’t mind, he had said. So how come witnessing Saeko have dinner with her husband was such a devastating blow for Souta? Perhaps, a part of him hopes, he finally realised the futility of it all. If he really ended up winning her, if she got divorced, would he really want to be with a woman who let herself be seduced by someone only a few months into her marriage?

Souta scrambles to lie across the counter, barely managing to avoid the rolled-out pastry dough. “What do I do?” he whines to himself, and the only one who answers is the Souta from six years ago. Telling him not to give up and to get back in the game.

So, he does. As soon as the pastry dough is in the fridge, he pulls forth his sketch book to draw a set of possible designs for Saeko’s birthday cake. 

And come morning, he receives a big, fat scolding from Kaoruko. 

Souta does not receive any word from Yoshimoto that day, and it makes him a little confused, since he usually receives some kind of encouragement or advice in the morning, or Yoshimoto warning him that he will come by choco la vie with “important information”. The loneliness it brings, now that there is nothing but his wallpaper of colourful chocolates on display staring back at him, Souta hurriedly ignores, since the emotion scares him. Instead, he pushes away his worries, telling himself it is Saturday after all, and so it is natural for Yoshimoto not to contact him. Stranger still though is it, that Elena has not been in touch either. 

After finishing and presenting his designs for Saeko’s birthday cake to his colleagues, Souta calls Elena, knowing he needs someone to talk to about his messed-up thoughts and emotions; he needs to tell her about what he witnessed with Yoshimoto, how it made him feel. Elena always manages to make Souta feel better. But she does not pick up, and the text messages he sends her go unanswered. For a moment, he worries, but then reckons that she too must be busy this weekend. She did talk about trying to meet with Kurashina after all. Maybe Yoshimoto really gave her some advice, and maybe it really did work. That would mean she is with Kurashina now. 

Souta puts his phone down with his heart suddenly feeling heavy.

-

On Sunday, there is still no word from Yoshimoto, and at night, Souta is haunted by nightmares.

Nightmares of hollow whispers in his ear, close, so very close, of breath brushing over his cheek, across his lips, never touching, but taunting with an underlying threat and hidden cruelty. Then there are flashes of Saeko’s face, of her smiling. But where she was once encased by light, shooting rays of warmth through Souta’s body, warming him in his slumber, there is mist covering the fine light, a cold settled over the picture, like winter in summer, and her smile freezes, like the rest of her warm body.

_ “You have to become a bad guy.”  _ She tells him. 

But her voice is hollow, the words sad and twisted, and as her eyes grow darker and darker, she screams, and again there is a voice by Souta’s ear, the source unreachable, invisible, an echo. Souta can feel the heat from the body behind him, his heartbeat is in Souta’s ears, but Souta cannot turn around. He is frozen solid, like the vision in front of him.

It has the voice of a hissing snake, albeit with mischief and amusement braided through the words.

_ “I will ruin you.”  _

Souta wakes with a start, confused and covered in sweat. The ghost of the nightmare flows through him, Yoshimoto’s words floating in the air around him, like cold mist, until Souta shakes his head and blinks hurriedly, desperate to get rid of the images. Knowing there is no escape in consciousness. 

 

  
*

 

  
Today is the last time Kouya will bring Souta along to observe Saeko. It will be the last push. And it comes with a risk. Although, of course, Kouya expects the plan will bear fruit. Especially after a weekend of silence, where Souta was alone…

“You pulled me out here again.” 

There is great difference from the Souta standing beside Kouya now, to the one he met a month ago. He has matured, become calmer, and the naïve innocence is far gone. In this moment, it is substituted with spite. But the spite is a reaction to a much deeper emotion. One that Souta may not recognize yet, “Your job was to help me win Saeko-san’s heart. And you have not succeeded,” sensing something bolder is coming, Kouya turns to look at Souta, watch the determination in his eyes, the hard set of his jaw, “If, after today, she does not come to me, our contract will be null. You are in the way of my work at choco la vie, and it is getting me nowhere.”

Kouya does not let the hostility in Souta’s voice and words affect him. He simply smiles and pushes away the part of him asking whether this is really for the better, “A bet, huh? Well, what if she does then?” as soon as Souta turns to him, Kouya smirks, “If she does come to you, I win. And you will be mine for an evening at choco la vie, after closing time. Alone.”

He really does not expect Souta to get what he insinuates. How could he, when Kouya has shown close to no such interest? When it was not part of the initial plan? Then again, Souta’s subconsciousness might understand. Souta is wearing a jacket with its collar pulled tight around his neck, so Kouya cannot see whether the skin there has turned red.

Souta furrows his brow, clearly not understanding – or pretending not to. But that will just make it easier for him to accept the terms, “Fine. Do what you want.” He clearly does not believe that Saeko will come around. But Kouya knows she will. 

And so, they watch on in silence while Saeko holds hands with an unknown man, shares a bentoed lunch with him by the lake and kisses his cheek when they depart come evening. Kouya and Souta leave together, with Souta mumbling under his breath.

“She has not changed one bit.”

   
 **  
Week five – 92% dark chocolate with oozing ivory blackberry filling in the shape of an orb**

“Souta-kun? Hasn’t your designs become a bit… Darker, recently?” 

Two days before Saeko’s birthday, while Souta is trying to perfect the technique of making a delicate-looking butterfly of chocolate for decorations, Kaoruko makes an observation upon tasting Souta’s newest weekly chocolates.

Night after night now, Souta is awoken by nightmares, always filled with echoing whispers and twisted versions of Saeko’s face. Last night, he had a breakthrough with inspiration hitting like a truck to the side of his head, causing him to jump out of bed and stumble to his desk for pen and paper. The dangerous whispers have materialised into this week’s filled chocolate. But upon listening to Kaoruko’s opinion, Souta wonders whether it is a good idea to market them.

“You don’t like it?” 

“It is not that I don’t like it. But – how to say it – it is different. Very different. It is not quite choco la vie’s image.” She offers an apologetic smile, clearly feeling bad about not agreeing with Souta’s vision, “You are of course the manager, so you decide but…” 

Souta gnaws on his lip and ponders upon her words. She is right, of course. Since choco la vie is created with the romance and softness of love – of Souta’s feelings at that time, which were defined by Saeko – that is the image of the store, the theme. If they were to change that, the majority of their loyal consumers would most likely leave, seeking their needs elsewhere, since the new chocolates would appeal to another taste. Souta knows this, but he knows no other way of producing chocolates than to have his emotions and state of mind be the source of inspiration for his creations. That is how he makes art. 

He cannot go back to how it was before. He realises as much. Yet, he does not know how to resolve it.

“Souta-kun,” Kaoruko calls his name, making him look back up, “Are you ok?” 

Kaoruko knows Souta better than anyone, having worked in his father’s store before choco la vie. She knows the way Souta works, knows many of his antics, but there is no way she can read his mind. Not like Yoshimoto so often does it. With those all-seeing eyes of his.

Souta waves her off, “I am ok. Sorry, Kaoruko-san. There won’t be any other new chocolates for this week then, I have been too occupied with preparing Saeko-san’s cake, and with all else that has been going on…” he shakes his head. 

“It is ok. I understand.” Kaoruko smiles, her eyes gentle, and Souta feels horrible, half-lying to her like that.

It is Monday, and the store is quiet in the early hours, with close to no customers. Since they do not need more staff than Kaoruko to handle the store while Souta makes desserts and works on Saeko’s cake, Olivier and Matsuri are off from work, with the former coming along to help after noon.

Last night, Souta finally heard the news of the two of them getting together, when they told Souta, his father and Kaoruko at Souta’s place. They had met to discuss the budget for the upcoming month and the welfare of the business overall. But the discussion quickly turned less serious after the announcement, Souta’s father overjoyed at his daughter “scoring so big”, as he had no qualms about calling it. Even Souta had enjoyed himself, happy for Olivier who has liked Matsuri for quite a while. Furthermore, Souta believes Olivier will treat his sister right and perhaps affect her positively, to become more mature and responsible. 

For today, Olivier is taking Matsuri out for brunch after her first exam for celebration and will come in after that. Souta will have to remember to press him for details. Their love seems to work as a nice distraction for Souta, who gets to feel and experience love through them, making him forget his Saeko and Yoshimoto for a while.

Suddenly, around 10:30 am., Kaoruko opens the glass door and pops her head into the room where Souta works. 

“Yoshimoto-sensei is here. He’s asking for you.”

Later, Souta will tell himself to ignore how fast he put down his tools to walk into the store, leaving the mousse for Saeko’s cake on the counter, for him to discover later and have to remake all over again.

At Yoshimoto’s usual table by the window, Souta is surprised to see that someone is with him, sitting across from Yoshimoto and nibbling at a spoonful of mousse au chocolat with care, the cutlery held neatly between two of his slim fingers. 

Yoshimoto is wearing his blue blazer with a grey V-neck underneath and dark trousers, his bag by his feet as always, “Good morning, Souta-kun,” he smiles when he greets Souta, in that self-satisfied way that makes Souta’s skin crawl and know the guy is up to something, “This is Naruse-sensei, my good friend.”

Naruse looks to be close to Yoshimoto’s age, in a dark suit and tie, with a calm, open smile and an equally soft and calm voice when he greets Souta politely.

“He is a lawyer,” Yoshimoto tells Souta, “I told him he _had_ to come try your chocolate mousse.”

“I have never tasted anything like it,” Naruse admits, his happiness at the taste subdued in a way that makes Souta feel both very proud and very embarrassed – as though this person is of high importance and a special guest to choco la vie, “Yoshimoto-sensei told me you were talented.” 

It makes Souta speculate upon what kind of associates Yoshimoto Kouya has. For several fair reasons, the tutor does not strike Souta as someone who has many friends. And yet here he is with a lawyer of seemingly high stature.

“I am very pleased you like it,” Souta politely answers, looking between the two of them, heart hammering unnaturally fast in his chest, “Hopefully, we will see you here again then?”

“Why, if Yoshimoto-sensei allows me to come along, I would be happy to visit.” The look he throws Yoshimoto is suspicious; not in the most direct sense, but the two of them seem to know something Souta does not. It looks as though they are sharing a personal secret of some amusement or importance to them.

The thought sends a spike of mixed jealousy and anticipation through Souta that he does not know the source of, nor that he was capable of feeling that way. It throws him off guard, and he immediately gets the urge to be as far away from Yoshimoto as possible, “Well, it was very nice to meet you. I’d better get back to work. If there is anything you need, feel free to ask my colleague.” Gesturing towards Kaoruko, Souta quickly bows and only just catches Yoshimoto’s eyes on him before he turns around and hastily hides with the excuse of his work out back.

Though he walks right past it lying on the counter, to the backroom, occupying himself with cookbooks to pretend he is working on new designs, checking whether the filling for Saeko’s cake is right after all. Only 10 minutes later does he receive a text message from Yoshimoto.

_ I will see you later then, Souta-kun. Don’t leave the store for too long, or Kaoruko-san will be troubled. _

   
*

   
Whether Souta chooses to believe it or not, Yoshimoto ends up being right. Again. It really should not have been a surprise, not at this stage. However, it is. And where Souta imagined it should be an amazing, pleasant surprise, it turns out not to thrill him at all, not bringing stutters to leave his lips or butterflies to spread in his stomach. Instead, the stated consequences echo in his mind. _“If she does come to you, I win. And you will be mine for an evening at choco la vie, after closing time. Alone.”_

It would have been a surprise, in any case, on any day, to see Saeko show up in front of choco la vie after closing time, with a suitcase and a handbag. She looks like someone who is going away for holidays, but Souta is not so stupid as to assume she is. Not at this time of the evening. It makes no sense either for her to show up in front of the chocolate store right before she goes somewhere. And not so soon after she went out on a date with a man that was not her husband and was not Souta.

“Saeko-san? What is it?”

“Sorry for showing up so late, Souta-kun.” She looks beautiful, in high-heeled boots and a coat, but her eyes are swollen, her hair not as shiny as usual.

Souta shows her inside with no further hesitation, to at least offer her a cup of tea. But he keeps his distance, his sentences short and devoid of emotion. He still hurts, knowing she is the deceiving, cunning woman from six years ago, even with a husband, going out with anyone to get affirmation, confidence. In front of Souta, the fairy is gone – that imaginary picture Souta had of a woman who, in reality, is way too dark for such a dream. Such a pure woman does not exist, they are deceitful creatures, just on a varying scale. Most likely, even Elena and Kaoruko are like that, in their own way. And Souta is not going to fall for it again. _He is worth more than that_.

It does not scare him to find that once Saeko looks at him, starts explaining after Souta has been awkwardly pacing in front of her, Souta feels as though someone is standing right behind him, whispering in his ear the words of _“of course, she would say that.” – “See how she looks up at you with her eyes wide and mouth parted.” – “See how she tries to lure you to the false belief that she is simply a woman in distress? That you are the only one who can help her.” – “Oh, so innocent. Yet not at all. Can you see the secret intentions?”_

“You left home?” there is only half the appropriate incredulity in Souta’s voice when he asks. And Saeko nods, eyes still cast down, her hands folded in her lap. But Souta does not see a pitiful woman, “Did you fight with your husband?” another nod.

Of course, that is why she is here. _“She is after your love, like she is with anybody else. This is a game to her.”_

“I am sorry, I didn’t… I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go.” 

It is funny, how an indirect confession like this one would have riled Souta up in the past. Merely a month ago, Souta never would have thought this scenario possible – that Saeko would ever come to him, to ask to stay at _his_ place. It seems so fake now, Souta only feels cold. Can imagine the frost surrounding the woman.

“Friends? Your family?”

“I…” she hesitates, clearly not having thought up an excuse for this, “My mother would scold me for leaving my husband. And my friends all have families of their own.” She looks up, her soft, glossy stare lingering on Souta, lips quaking. And Souta wants to scream.

“Saeko-san,” he can act, he can pretend he regrets what he is about to say. And part of him does. But Souta is prepared to let that part walk out the door along with Saeko and her bags. Those holiday bags, with possessions lasting for a week’s time, for the time it takes her to get away from things, to gather her thoughts, to get reaffirmation and satisfy her cravings. After that, she will return home with the dirty laundry, but no dirty conscience, “I am sorry, but we have no guest rooms in my house. Olivier is living with me so…”

She did not expect that. Her face falls, “Oh. Oh yes, of course. I- I am sorry to have bothered you with this Souta-kun.” She is flustered and gets up, nearly tripping over her own feet in those ridiculously high heels. Did she think it would impress him? “I- I am sure I can stay with my friends. Ah, maybe I know a guy…” It is painfully obvious when she hesitates, looks at Souta through her eyelashes, watching for a reaction. _“So low~”_

But Souta does not move, simply stares at her with disinterest, waits for her to get the hell out. He is sick of looking at her. Saeko makes a series of continuous apologies, slowly making her way out, small step by small step, her eyes continuously flittering to Souta. With each step, another piece is torn from Souta’s heart, ripped off painfully, that light imaginary world he created within choco la vie crumbling around him. He wonders yet again, whether her leaving will be the end of choco la vie. Whether she will ever come back. Whether the place will be the same when she does. And for which purposes would she come back here, now that has Souta rejected her?

The door shuts behind her slim back and black hair, and the store goes silent as a tomb. Effectively trapping Souta within. He feels cold in his simple white shirt, chef’s jacket and scarf out back, along with his work. He is no longer just heartbroken – he is desperately trying to sew the two halves of his heart back together, half of what he just ripped painfully away from Saeko, only to find it no longer fits in his chest. Will it ever fit? 

Souta turns slowly to gaze towards the glass window, through which the customers can always watch the chocolatiers work, and he sees himself there, bent over his chocolates, focus solely on creating wonders out of cocoa butter and sugar, caramel and cream, each infused with his wishes for love to come to those who eat them. Remaining heartbroken, he devoted himself to others’ love, satisfied with the thought of making Saeko happy too, of being able to see her face so often. 

It is no longer enough, no longer something he will yearn for. Souta sighs, turns fully away from the door to tug the chair, on which Saeko sat, back in, and walk to the back wall to turn off the light.

“Hiiii~” 


	4. Chapter 4

Souta jumps with his finger hovering over the light switch.

Yoshimoto is standing by the door, in his brown coat, wearing earbuds, hands proudly lifted in the air, announcing his presence with a huge smile, “Souta-kuuuun~” he singsongs, and Souta tries to keep his face impassive, not wanting the tutor’s antics to get to him, “You did good.”

The praise should not have had the effect it has, like a wave, filling Souta with a sense of warmth again, just a little against the cold from Saeko’s visit. Nevertheless, Yoshimoto’s visit is unannounced, “What do you want?”

“Why Souta-kun, you hurt my feelings.” Yoshimoto grins, and Souta does not believe him one second, “We had an agreement, remember? And I won.” Only then does Souta realise the state of matters. Although, what sort of coincidence is it, the tutor showing up not 5 minutes after Saeko has left? He could perhaps have guessed the series of events taking place, if he passed by Saeko on the way here, sneaking past her like he has been so good at so far. But this almost seems too convenient, a scheme? What strings has he been pulling?

“Did you plan this?”

Yoshimoto makes Souta feel first naïve when he breaks out in laughter, clapping his hands as though what Souta said was endlessly funny. Then he calms down, face settling to serious just the next moment, appearing as though he would never laugh, “Don’t be stupid. There is no way, I could have foreseen those circumstances.” And Souta narrows his eyes, finds it in himself to not quite believe the man.

“Now, you are not going anywhere.” Yoshimoto declares next, stepping closer to Souta with long, fast strides, “I suggest we go to the backroom,” he tilts his chin towards past the glass door.

Souta scoffs and grabs his jacket from the hanger, “I am going home.” He sends Yoshimoto a challenging glare, and steps right up and past him.

Only to get pulled backwards roughly by an arm at his elbow, the grip firm like steel, matching Yoshimoto’s eyes when he brings Souta up real close, so close that Souta’s eyes can flicker down to Yoshimoto’s lips when he speaks next, “You stay here.” His voice is a growl, a command, “Through the door. Now. Don’t make me tell you again.”

There is danger in those eyes, and a promise of consequences carried out, that Souta cannot ignore. But it is with reluctance and a hard stare at Yoshimoto that Souta gives up and turns around, heading towards the work stations, where Yoshimoto always joins him and Olivier and Kaoruko during the daylight hours. Yoshimoto has never been here after dark, and Souta instantly understands why, and how Souta is lucky not to have been placed in this situation until now. Although Souta turns on the light, the darkness that always seem to accompany Yoshimoto spreads throughout the room, underlined by the darkness in the window frames.

Souta puts one of the big working tables between the two of them on purpose, walks to the sink to wash his hands for no reason what so ever. But it places him with his back towards Yoshimoto, in what he hopes is a clear sign of rejection and of him not wanting to indulge the tutor in whatever wicked scheme he is planning. He watches his hands under the water, his long white fingers with no cuts and no scars from burns or accidents in the kitchen. Is that a sign of his talent in his line of work? Or does it signify his reluctance to take risks? How he never quite finds himself on deeper waters? Never challenged and pushed to the edge. Not far enough to hurt him, as satisfied as he was, watching Saeko from the side line, content with being heartbroken.

The sound of the running water fills his ears, and almost makes him forget time and place, why he is here to begin with. And he soon realises the mistake of dropping his guard in the company of Yoshimoto, silent as the man has been after closing the glass door behind them, letting Souta put distance between them and lull himself to a false sense of security. Thus, when Souta turns around, Yoshimoto is right in his space, breathing into his face.

Souta gasps, but there is nowhere to run, his backside pressed against the counter, hands gripping the aluminium. Those black eyes are holding his own prisoner, immobilizing Souta, and he forgets how to breathe, trapped in what little space there is between them now. It rings in Souta’s ears when Yoshimoto takes a deep breath, the sound of it unnaturally loud. And although Souta is supposed to be taller than Yoshimoto, Souta feels small when the man leans forward, hand moving to rest beside Souta’s on the counter, effectively bringing Yoshimoto closer, with his weight supported by an arm so close to Souta’s side, their chests mere centimetres from being in contact. And every time Souta inhales, it brings them closer. Closer and closer still as his breathing quickens.

Souta’s mind drifts to last night, to knowledge of actions he has forced himself to supress. The urge given into when his hand found his straining, painful erection under the covers, touching himself while the first tendrils of sleep created dancing visions of fingers across his lips, a strong smell of cologne and dark words in his ear, playing tricks on his mind and haunting him until he finally submitted. The release had been bittersweet, Souta realising what he had done when the traces of the act stuck to his fingers, forcing him to get out of bed in the same misty haze. He had barely washed his fingers when the inspiration hit him.

Only now does he realise the filthy thoughts poured into the black bonbon chocolate. The one Kaoruko tasted, when in actuality, Souta wanted Yoshimoto to be the one to eat it – for Yoshimoto to praise him for the creation of something secretly inspired by Souta’s nightmares.

“Souta.” His name falls like a dark whisper from full lips against the side of his face. Yoshimoto is studying his expression closely, the warmth of his skin so close to Souta’s, Souta wants to close his eyes, but instead he looks straight ahead, scared of his body’s reactions, “What is it you want?”

Souta opens his mouth to reply, but nothing comes out, his mind not working properly.

“You rejected Saeko-san. Why did you do that?” the damp, taunting whisper moves past his cheekbone, to his jaw, “Had you said yes, she would have been yours. It would only have been a matter of time, before she’d be in your arms, in your bed.” There is a tickle by the side of his neck, the sound of Yoshimoto inhaling, and Souta swallows a gasp, trying and failing at concealing his desires. “Why, Souta? Didn’t you want to _consume_ her?”

Suddenly, Souta finds himself scrambling sideways, somehow escaping Yoshimoto’s enchantment. But it is only temporary; Yoshimoto is already following him towards the wall that he is slowly backing up against. Like a cornered animal with his defect mind and a body he cannot control, he is easy prey for this domineering, unpredictable presence aiming to corner him once more.

-

Kouya merely follows Souta when he tries to flee again, watching the chaos in his eyes with great amusement. _What a turnaround._ He wants to laugh, but he knows it would ruin the mood he is trying to awaken, playing on what Souta has been pushed further and further towards. And what Kouya’s plan involves.

Since Kouya has been unable to find an appropriate substitute for Saeko, if things are left as they are, choco la vie will disappear in a matter of days, and Souta will most likely leave the country – both outcomes Kouya seeks to avoid. As to why, for the time being, to him, the reason is simply that it would be a waste.

Standing with his back against the wall, in that almost see-through simple white shirt, with his cheeks flushed and panting laboured, all Kouya needs to do is make Souta realise what his body is telling him. His eyes are beautiful; huge and framed by those long eyelashes when he stares wide-eyed at Kouya, still unable to wrap his head around what is essentially going down, the conclusion drawing near.

“What do you want?” his voice is hoarse when he asks Kouya the main question, the one question Kouya himself can never quite answer. He wants nothing. He wants everything. Always.

“I want to ruin you.” Whether it is realisation that seeps through Souta and drains the blood from his face, Kouya cannot perceive, but he does witness pieces falling into place within Souta, some answers surfacing only to bring along new questions.

Kouya steps closer again, lets the tension rise as though it is a living creature in the kitchen while he watches how Souta’s eyes flicker between Kouya’s face and the door behind him. There is no escape – how would it even look for him to run like a madman to escape someone who is neither a murderer nor a thief? When Souta realises that there is no way he will get past him, Kouya smirks. That look of realisation, the spark of despair Kouya catches in Souta’s eyes suits him and beckons Kouya closer. Closer, as close as possible.

The weekend was undoubtedly lonely for Souta – to have that loneliness grow, Kouya did not contact him, and yet, a part of Kouya’s subconsciousness whispers that it was even harder on him. Kouya has grown a little attached to this overly-romantic and philosophical chocolatier, who always tries to act as though Kouya does not get to him, although he is affected nevertheless, allowing Kouya to chase him around, guide him in the darkness, Souta created in his own mind. He has been interesting to watch and teach.

“This game has been going on for long enough,” Kouya announces, his voice splintering the silence, yet makes the air around them seem darker. But is that not what he does? Takes away the light, to bring along with him an eerie atmosphere, taking pleasure in watching people shiver and writhe in his hold. Continuing to tighten his grip until they stop fighting and give in.

The wall is ice cold under Kouya’s hands when his palms meet stone, mentally and physically trapping Souta. There is no longer any chance of escape. Perhaps there never was. Not for him. The cage is real this time, and Souta shrinks before him, scooting as close to the wall as possible as if that would make him invisible under Kouya’s scrutinizing gaze. As if that would make it easier, avoidable. Challenge itself appears to be the greatest challenge for Souta.

Kouya snorts, “Why Souta, your acting is so good, you almost look like you enjoy the role of prey.”

“That’s wrong. I don’t.”

The cruel laugh is unstoppable. Souta’s voice is a breathy, squeaky whisper, and Kouya knows that this is as good as game over, even if Souta continues to try and lie to himself. Kouya lets a smirk grace his face, lets it grow as desire takes a firmer hold inside him, consumes him. He leans forward, puffing hot, sticky breath against Souta’s ear.

“Liars get spanked.”

Wouldn’t that make for a pretty sight.

But it is too early for that. At this point, even Kouya has to just follow the turn of events, see where this leads. Because, as calculating as he is, his own mind is the only one he cannot predict.

Souta glares back with spite, although there is no venom with the way he gnaws on his lip then, “You wouldn’t dare.”

Narrowing his eyes, letting lust surface, Kouya reaches forward to grab Souta’s chin softly, delighting in the way Souta does not resist. Not yet at least, “Oh, you watch me.” He thumbs at Souta’s bottom lip, watches as he pulls it from between Souta’s teeth, and it comes back swollen and red. He _wants_. And what he wants, he takes.

With eyes flickering only briefly to Souta’s eyes that are resting on Kouya’s face – with anticipation that Souta does not realise he is showing – , and following Kouya’s slow actions, Kouya leans forward inch by inch, wanting to observe every small contraction and reaction, listening for any noise Souta could possibly make. When he finally closes the gap between them, he is the one to exhale rapidly.

Souta’s lips are softer than Kouya imagined, plump against his own. He only gets a brief taste because Souta pulls back then, eyes so wide in incredulity they may be close to popping out of his skull, and the graphic imagery sends a grin to Kouya’s face. Souta’s expression is screaming no, but it does not stop Kouya from leaning close again, giving Souta another kiss. This time, Souta turns his head away, breaks their eye-contact, which just makes Kouya grab his chin firmer, fingers sliding across his jawbone.

The next kiss is harder, Souta sealing his lips shut and whimpering to try and get free, resulting in Kouya biting at Souta’s lip in retaliation, “Don’t resist,” Kouya growls against his mouth, dragging it back once it escapes again, “Don’t let that mind of yours dictate what your body wants.” A poke of his tongue against the wedge between Souta’s lips makes Souta jerk in Kouya’s iron hold, hands now rising to push feebly at Kouya’s firm chest. The touch burns and sparks like electricity shooting through flesh, and Kouya wonders if Souta can feel that too.

“Don’t resist.” He says again, this time softer, recognising how Souta’s struggles turn less determined, body going less rigid in Kouya’s hold, and he takes that as his cue to push forward, aligning their bodies closer, to get more of the heat from skin concealed. “Good boy.” With the closeness, Kouya gets to feel Souta shiver against him, and once again he prods with his tongue against the barrier preventing him access to invade Souta’s mouth.

There is a soft whimper escaping Souta, different this time, and it is a sign of resignation, of Souta giving in. Kouya wastes no time in jumping the chance, in one firm motion, he tilts Souta’s head to his liking, and his tongue breaks through to Souta’s pliant mouth by the time he pushes a thigh between Souta’s legs. Another shudder and a soft moan, and Kouya knows Souta can feel his desire.

There should no longer be any question of what Kouya wants, “Forget her.” He whispers when he breaks away from the kiss, only to dive in again, tongue sweeping over Souta’s, to the roof of his mouth, “I’ll make you feel good.” Souta’s mouth is so hot, and Kouya is not sure he can get enough, swallowing Souta’s breath, whatever sounds he may think of making.

It is dark around them, but time is still limited, the space far from optimal. However, it is so damn appropriate, that this is the place that it should all come down and begin.

“Souta-kun. Touch me.” Kouya demands. Souta is relenting what is taken from him now, but he is still stiff, his hands have yet to move from their place on Kouya’s chest, and Kouya wants him to explore. He does not only want to take what he himself wants, he wants Souta to want him too, to take from Kouya what Souta likes, what he desires, “Come _on_.”

Souta draws his face away, and surprises Kouya by burying his face in Kouya’s neck, “I don’t- I don’t know what to- how to…” What he clearly does not know is how he affects Kouya by just doing exactly what he is doing now. His lips are close to Kouya’s skin, his breath warm, and the thought of him inhaling Kouya’s scent is more than enough to turn Kouya on.

He chuckles hoarsely, puts a hand to the back of Souta’s head, “What you are doing now. Don’t stop.” It takes Souta a few seconds after the request, but then he presses a tentative kiss against the protruding vein at the side of Kouya’s neck, and Kouya inhales sharply. Souta grows bolder.

Slowly, the kisses become longer and hotter, until he is sucking and licking his way across Kouya’s jaw. Kouya’s erection stirs, and it is purely by instinct that he starts rubbing his pelvis forward, seeking friction against Souta. And by doing so, he notices that Souta too, is hard. But the action also makes Souta gasp and stop what he is doing, drawing back swiftly, an objection undoubtedly coming. So, Kouya decides to shut him up first, kissing him deeply by holding a hand to his neck and bringing him forward. It is filthy and wet and Souta struggles to keep up, right until he figures out that tilting his head and wrapping his arms around Kouya’s shoulders lock them perfectly together and allows for Souta to fight back against Kouya’s tongue.

Kouya growls, lust burning in his veins at how quick of a learner Souta is. There will be fewer barriers to break down now, less struggle from Souta now that he is slowly letting go of those ropes he seems to have bound himself with – most likely caused by his choice to devote himself solely to Saeko and the female sex – and Kouya presumes right when he grabs onto Souta’s thin shirt to pull it up from his trousers, hands quick to sneak up under the fabric and steal a feel of warm, firm skin against a flat belly, and Souta gasps. But this time, his mouth finds Kouya’s ear in retaliation and tugs at his earlobe.

So, Kouya lets his hands wander. Upwards, and upwards towards what he really wants to touch, although he lets them roam slowly, delighting in the shivers they cause in their wake and the way stomach muscles clench and unclench as if tickled. Kouya wastes no time once he finds Souta’s left nipple, having been dying to discover how sensitive the skin is, how responsive Souta is. And he is not disappointed, when he thumbs the nub, teasing it between two fingers. Since their mouths are not interlocked, Kouya gets an unrestricted, wanton moan right next to his ear, and it ignites him, setting fire off in the pit of his stomach. With one hand, he grabs a hold of one of Souta’s wrists, pinning it above his head temporarily, in a display of dominance, and the other he uses to pull at Souta’s shirt, fumbling with buttons while he growls in frustration at how long it takes, that he cannot just rip the fabric apart.

Souta’s skin is so pale, almost as white as the shirt itself, and Kouya surges forward, this time not considering Souta’s feelings or restrictions at all – all he knows is that he needs a taste, objections or not, and he wastes no time once he has access, bending down to take a nipple into his mouth, tonguing at the soft, sensitive skin.

There is a thump from above, Souta knocking his head back against the wall, his eyes closed, and then there are hands in Kouya’s hair, fingers digging into the strands and pulling at them. And Souta grows louder, panting and moaning messily, clearly trying to keep the sounds from escaping by biting his lips. It is futile, and one hand quickly leaves the tugging to the other so Souta can put a fist against his open mouth, moaning and moaning, and he just does not stop. He tastes so good, and Kouya is reluctant to cease what he is doing, when he finally gives the abused nub a break, only to surge up and take the hand away from Souta’s mouth, to kiss his lips, to tongue at the mole beneath and above.

“You sound so good. Moan for me, Souta. As loud as you want. I want to hear you.” He touches Souta’s left nipple, slides his hand over Souta’s chest while putting his lips to the side of Souta’s neck. That long, enticing neck which is too white. Kouya immediately starts sucking at skin, inhaling Souta’s scent, his spicy cologne as he does so, working towards a hickey, a mark that is his.

A wave of heat surges down his spine, when Kouya realises where Souta’s hands currently travel. Growing bolder and bolder, one of Souta’s hands is resting on the back of Kouya’s neck, the other is traveling up and down his chest, feeling his pectoral muscles over and over again, making Kouya grin against his neck. He has figured out what Souta likes.

“If I strip off my jacket and shirt,” he starts, breaking away to interlock eyes with Souta, “I get to touch you.” Leaning forward with his lower arms resting on the wall, Kouya entraps Souta between them, has him right where he has always wanted him.

“But you are.” Souta answers, the innocence of the statement enough to make Kouya smirk. He touches the side of Souta’s swollen lip, strokes the fat mole below again, and he licks his lips.

“No.” Kouya removes the hand, lowers his arm. And then he puts his palm unabashedly against the bulge in Souta’s linen trousers, “I want to touch _you_.”

Souta instantly throws his head to the side, body twisting in what seems to be half struggle to get away, half rubbing himself against Kouya. It signifies how he is clearly battling his dignity and thoughts of wrong and right. But Kouya will not allow him to get too far in such thinking. He steps back, out of Souta’s space which makes Souta look at him, search for the heat gone away. That moment, Kouya shrugs out of his blue jacket, grabs the edges of his shirt and tears it off, over his head, tousling his long hair in the process. Once again visible, he stares right at Souta with heavy-lidded eyes and witnesses how Souta’s stare swiftly dances over his chest, lingers at his muscular upper arms and pectorals.

And Kouya smirks, “You get to touch in return. Don’t worry.” Then he steps back into Souta’s space, groaning when he feels Souta’s naked skin aganst his own, Souta’s arm instantly wrapping around Kouya to bring him close. Sparks set off between them, and this time, when Kouya grinds against Souta, Souta rubs back in circles, driving Kouya absolutely crazy with the shots of pleasure spiking through his groin, all the way to his toes.

“Fuck.”

“Kouya.” Souta pants, and Kouya bites his lips this time, tugs harshly at them.

With Souta’s hot, hesitantly exploring hands distracted against Kouya’s skin, he can let his own stray towards the waistband of Souta’s pants. Quickly, he lets them sneak inside, only to find the tip of Souta’s cock dangerously close to his palm. And he wastes no time, instead skipping the teasing to slide his hand right home to close around Souta’s stiff length. The moan tearing at the air around them is no surprise, and Kouya growls in return, mouthing the inside of Souta’s ear, nipping at the skin and tasting with his tongue. But he does not want Souta to come in his hand, they will have time for teasing later. Despite Souta’s initial resistance, his actions grow rushed, bodily needs taking over as he now scratches against skin, leaving red marks across Kouya’s chest.

Enough.

Kouya pushes him away, just manages to catch his surprised expression before he quickly manoeuvres Souta around, to push him chest first against the nearest big, aluminium table. Next, he moves up real nice and close, a hand pushing Souta down against the cold surface just as he presses his straining, restrained cock against Souta’s backside. Souta jerks in his hold, and Kouya leans forward over him, body effectively trapping him.

“I am going to fuck you, Souta.” Souta inhales sharply, twists underneath Kouya, but it is too late for that, “And you will end up asking for it.”

“Wai-” Kouya decides not to hear the anxious tone in Souta’s voice. Souta is realising what exactly he has signed up for, exactly what the initial touching is turning into. And there is no way Kouya is going to stop now.

With his bodyweight holding Souta down, Kouya can easily open Souta’s pants, pull them down past his knees, and once there is access, Kouya touches – caressing Souta’s narrow waist and hips, moving over the curve of his ass, “I would never do anything you do not want me to, Souta.” He declares and meaning it, “But in this case, you don’t know how to ask for it. So, let me teach you.” Reaching for the inside pocket of the jacket that lies on the counter to his right, Kouya finds the lube he brought along, and deftly opens it with one hand, the other holding Souta down, with his palm pressed firmly against the space between Souta’s shoulder blades.

“Wait. Wait, please.” Souta trashes below him, Kouya’s hand eventually slipping despite his attempt to keep Souta down. But where Kouya thought Souta would see the chance of escape now, he instead turns clumsily around and slings an arm around Kouya’s neck. He steps close, lifts one of his legs slightly up against Kouya’s thigh and hip. As if asking.

“Let me see you, while you… While you… Prepare me.” He cannot help but avert his eyes, a blush on his cheeks as he throws his eyes down, and Kouya would never have thought such an action would charm him. But with Souta‘s honest wish to please, him finally asking for something for himself, is enticing.

“Then look at me, do not take your eyes away,” Kouya commands, fire rising in him. He grabs the offered leg and hooks it onto his hip, pushes forward to have Souta arch slightly backwards and give Kouya the space he needs, the opportunity to touch, to slip a hand around and between Souta’s buttocks.

Souta jolts, releasing a cute surprised sound that has Kouya chuckling against his cheek, “How cute.”

And Souta breaks the promise between them when Kouya prods against his rim, massages it gently with a wet fingertip, until Souta is loose enough for Kouya to slip the first link in. Souta pants and hides his face in Kouya’s neck, he clings to him, the hold around Kouya’s neck tightening.

“Relax. If you stay tense like that, it will only hurt. Spread your legs more.” Kouya’s whisper is hot and sticky against Souta’s hair, wisps of light brown locks moving when Kouya breathes.

And Souta does, a strained whimper and a harsh bite against Kouya’s neck when the digit slides all the way in, Souta’s walls pulsing around it. Kouya cannot wait to be in him, can only imagine the pleasure it will bring, although he knows it will hurt Souta given how tight he is, and unused to it. But they both want it, and despite the bigger part of him yelling to just do it now, to take what he wants and soil Souta, a smaller, growing part of Kouya does not want that.

He wants Souta to look at him after this night. He wants Souta to still trust him. Despite what he is about to do to him. “You are so tight. At this rate, I am afraid I'll tear you apart.”

“I- It’s ok.” Souta mewls, and Kouya’s craving skyrockets. Kouya presses his pelvis forward, retracting and pushing forward again in a signifying motion of what will happen soon, underlining his former promise. With only one layer of fabric between them, the friction is delicious, and the precome gathering at the tip of Souta’s cock gets spread between their lower abdomens, the heat in the air so thick it is almost unbearable, “I can take it.”

“Good.”

Souta is probably biting off more than he can chew, but nevertheless, Kouya starts pulling his finger in and out, going in small circles occasionally, searching for a spot that can bring Souta pleasure, while Souta’s whines increase in volume at the burn and stretch, up until he lifts an arm and pushes lightly and half-heartedly against Kouya’s chest, as if that would make it less uncomfortable. But Kouya takes his hand in his, intertwines their fingers at his chest and brings his mouth to Souta’s cheek.

Then he inserts a second digit in Souta’s hole, kissing the yelp of pain and surprise from Souta’s open mouth, his tongue sweeping over teeth and flesh to distract Souta, before he briefly pulls away, "I will show you how much pleasure you can get by being with me. Forget her, Souta." Kouya uses the hand by Souta’s ass to press him closer, removing the last bit of space between their bodies.

_More._

 

-

Such an alien feeling should be wrong. So very wrong.

Souta hiccups, breath lost in his throat, and his legs tremble underneath him, threatening to give out. And they could, it would not bring him to his knees with the way he is pressed against the counter, chest against the cold aluminium and with Kouya’s weight pressing him down, his deep, firm thrusting taking the breath from Souta’s lungs and the strength from his arms.

“N- No. Please. No. Stop. Please stop…” His voice comes out a whimper, with no conviction at all, hesitant and anxious. Nothing remotely enough to stop Kouya. It is even as though Kouya does not hear him. Instead, one of his hands slides down Souta’s sweaty back, causing shivers in its wake. Souta feels it all the way to his toes, when Kouya draws out, feels every inch of Kouya’s cock against his inside walls, before Kouya pushes back in, deeper this time, with meaning and purpose, and Souta yells, falling forward and going even flatter against the table which is supporting his weight.

The contrast of the cold aluminium against his stiff, overly sensitive nipples and Kouya’s body which is like a hot, burning furnace, Souta’s nerves are on spikes, stimulated by more than just Kouya driving in and out of him, forcing his entry against Souta’s resisting entrance. One shiver after another rolls down his spine uncontrollably, mirroring how the muscles of his hole clench around the hard cock in him, reacting in a way Souta finds they should not. A moan tears itself across his lips, one he cannot stop, and he ends up whimpering, knowing there is nothing he can do to stop it, to stop Kouya. Not with one of Kouya’s hands wrapped solidly around his hip to keep him in place, to draw him back now that Kouya starts increasing his pace, the other pressing down on his back, forcing him to submit.

He can only take it. Take it and bite his lip and wait for the pain to go away. But above him, Kouya grunts in his ear, taking pleasure in what is hurting Souta. Although…

“Bear with it,” Kouya hisses in between trusts and his voice has changed, to a deep baritone that makes pleasure run down Souta’s spine unexpectedly. Kouya sounds like this because of _him_ , “It will be better. I promise.” And with the promise, Kouya takes a hold of Souta’s only half-hard cock and moves his hand firmly and with just the right amount of pressure with each thrust, the movements synchronized. And just then, after a couple of strokes, after he thumbs the slit and spreads the precome over the glans, Souta feels himself stirring again. Feels pleasure rising from deep within him, a place he did not know could feel good.

And he lets Kouya know as much. Souta gasps, then lets a dragged out, filthy moan tear across his throat, exaggerated, but it has the wanted effect with Kouya’s hold on his hip becoming firmer. And the pace increases; he thrusts harder, deeper, when Souta feels how Kouya’s palm rests briefly against Souta’s sweaty shoulder blades. There is no longer a need for Kouya to hold Souta down – he does so by his own will, takes Kouya’s cock again and again as his mind goes more and more blank, as he loses himself in pleasure he never imagined he could feel. From sex with someone he never initially imagined he would crave the touch of. He never knew before Kouya forced him against the wall and _pulled_ it out of him. All rational thoughts are torn from him, along with memories of who he is supposed to be, where he is, who he was supposed to love and save such an intimate moment for.

“I want you to come all over this counter, Souta.” Kouya husks against his skin. There is only Kouya’s voice and the slick hardness in him, driving in and out, almost tearing at his insides. In a dark, forgotten corner of his mind, Souta thinks that come morning, looking at this counter will make him feel gross. But right now, the thought of what Kouya plans, makes Souta feel hot. So incredibly _hot_ and strung out, like an elastic band, “And think of it tomorrow. That I made you defile the very table you use to make chocolates.”

Suddenly, his vision goes white, an arrow of pleasure shooting through his pelvis with one particularly hard thrust, so _deep_ , and Kouya falls forward, Souta’s name spilling from his lips and there is that pain at his hip where Kouya’s nails dig into his flesh, and then Souta clenches around the length in him, his walls almost tugging at Kouya’s cock and the spot it hit, deep within Souta. Then he comes. Hard. Harder than he ever has before, only vaguely aware of how Kouya pounds into him, pulls Souta’s hips harshly back against his cock again and again and bends his knees to reach as far as he can and exploit Souta’s pulsing walls. Only to abruptly stop. To shallowly thrust through his own orgasm, riding out the pleasure, while Souta becomes limp under him.

 

*

 

Souta still has to prepare the birthday cake for Saeko. She will be picking it up tomorrow. But it seems so unimportant now, pointless even. What had he been thinking? Going after a married woman. Going for all these intricate designs to impress her and show her all the feelings he could not convey in words. For someone like her…

Souta has not slept well, however exhausted he was last night. The deal between him and Kouya was for Kouya to have that one evening alone with him, so after he left, Souta felt terribly cold, none of his blankets providing warmth comparable to Kouya’s body against his. And he is not less confused this morning, wondering what Kouya meant with it all. Whether it was a spur-of-the-moment thing, or something true.

Concerning the cake, Souta luckily has the sketch, so all that is left is to make the cake, and for that, he can ask Olivier and Kaoruko to make the basics: the spongecake base, the mousse, the cream and the melted chocolate. And Souta can make the decorations, put it all together, like he would with any other job. With no special Saeko-treatment.

“I cannot believe you are not going to make that yourself. You don’t want her to devour part of you? Have your feelings consumed by her?”

“Shut up.”

Kouya is having too much fun from his barstool by their work-stations, his presence a distraction to Souta, although Souta was pleased and relieved when he called 5 minutes after Souta’s alarm, demanding coffee because, quote “I woke up early, and I cannot fall back asleep.” With his grainy voice, he made Souta think of his dreams. Of Kouya’s hot whispers in his ear, of his dangerous words. And of last night. Of the way Souta allowed Kouya to fuck him, to put his cock in him and give them both pleasure against the very counter Souta is standing in front of now - no way he could let Olivier or Kaoruko make chocolates at this work station. Souta feels himself go red at the images popping up in his mind. He is still incredibly sore, his hips aching every time he has been standing still for too long and moves, so he tries not to. Later, he will have to hide his waddling movements from the eyes of Olivier and Kaoruko.

_Damn it._

“When will Kaoruko arrive?” Kouya asks as he gets up from his chair.

Souta quickly turns back to his work-station, randomly moving some utensils around for no purpose at all, his senses on high alert and painfully aware of Kouya moving behind him, “Around 7.”

“So, in less than 15 minutes, huh?” Arms suddenly slither around Souta’s waist, creep across the white fabric of his chef’s jacket, and Souta shivers under the touch, not wanting it gone, much less the warmth he feels enveloped in, “guess I'll have to keep my hands off you then.” Kouya nibbles at the side of Souta’s neck, making him freeze on the spot, a shockwave sent down his spine, “You smell nice.” Then Kouya lets him go and steps back.

When Souta turns to look for him, missing the warmth, he finds Yoshimoto with crossed legs, an elbow propped up and his head resting in his palm. Slowly, a smirk creeps over his face, and Souta finds himself trapped by his darkening gaze, those orbs that never fail to catch everything.

“Good morning.”

Souta’s head snaps to the door, eyes wide as though Kaoruko just caught him doing something illegal or highly embarrassing. “G- good morning, Kaoruko-san.” She raises an eyebrow, expression sceptic, and her eyes flitter to Kouya. Who merely grins at her and lifts a hand in greeting.

“Yo.”

She scoffs, “Seriously, that guy is already here? He is taking liberties not befitting a tutor. He exploits your hospitality, Souta-kun.” She places her bag on the counter opposite Souta’s and unwraps her scarf, her tone sharp. Souta smiles apologetically at her, as though there is nothing either of them can do, and her expression softens. “Well, he is a help to you, isn't he? It cannot be helped then, I guess.”

Kouya remains a quiet presence in the room following that, content with watching Souta and Kaoruko work by their benches, only occasionally sneaking up to peak over Souta’s or Kaoruko’s shoulder, the latter wawing her hand as if chasing off a fly that is buzzing annoyingly around her ear. After half an hour, where Kaoruko has been getting ready for work, starting to put out utensils and bars of chocolate, Souta turns to look for Kouya and finds him staring into space, at nothing in particular, and Souta is stunned by how soft he looks, distracted by his thoughts. In a spontaneous wish to do something for him, Souta walks to the fridge in which they keep samples and gets a pain d’epices. He cuts a thick slice and fills a cup with black coffee and one with milk from their machine, all while being aware of Kaoruko’s gaze following him curiously, with some reservation as the woman always displays. But he ignores her completely, consumed by this thought of surprising Kouya.

On his way back, he hands Kaoruko the cup with the latté. He offers her a silent smile, when she thanks him. The city is awakening, the sound of cars and people starting to fill the morning silence. It will not be long before they open the store and let the world in.

“Here.” It's either his voice or the smell of coffee and cake that makes Kouya blink and return from his open-eyed slumber, to look up at Souta and the offering. Whatever the reason, it pleases Souta, when Kouya breaks into a big smile. Seeing how he honestly surprised the man makes warmth creep into Souta’s chest, makes him fight to not mirror the smile - he does not want to return to his goofy self, wants to retain dignity and pretence that Kouya does not get to him. _What a joke._

Kouya does not thank him, but their eyes interlock and there is more than thankfulness to find in the connection there, “Souta-kun.” Is all he says, fingers touching Souta's when he receives the plate, and Souta believes the small stroke of his forefinger against Souta’s is calculated and on purpose.

 

A quarter of an hour passes before Olivier shows up in the door too, half-way through taking off his coat, and he immediately smells the coffee – not the cake, since Kouya devoured that twenty seconds after it was handed to him. “Good morning. Smells like coffee here. Mind if I have a cup, Souta-kun?” He is clearly in high spirits, and Souta puts his hands on his hips.

“How is Matsuri-chan?” Souta’s question makes Olivier freeze on his way to the coffee machine, and his ears go red. Souta grins, “Did you two sleep together?”

“What! No! I wouldn’t do that to her yet, Souta-kun, I swear!” he is all panicky, and Souta cannot help but laugh, now that he is not the victim of someone’s teasing, now that he can finally give Olivier something back for all the taunting and bullying he has inflicted upon Souta.

“But you came home late last night.”

“Ho- How would you know?!”

Well, how would he indeed. Souta tilts his head, praying Kouya will keep his mouth shut behind him. No way he is letting Olivier and Kaoruko know whom _he_ slept with. It is enough that he must wear his red collar high and tight, risking Kaoruko walk up to him to try and fix it, only to discover the huge hickey Kouya left on the side of his neck, right by the sternomastoid. The bastard.

“Congratulations~” Kouya singsongs, jumping down from his high chair and walking right past Souta.

Souta’s hip aches, and he fears the worst when Kouya walks right into Olivier’s face, to stare seriously at him, eyebrows raised. And Olivier tries to shy back, only for Kouya to follow, “So, Olivier-san. When are you two moving in together?”

“What?” Souta and Kaoruko inquire simultaneously. Souta is both surprised at the presumption of Olivier and Matsuri moving out of his house, and that Kouya did not just, as a matter of fact, announce his sexual intercourse with Souta.

Olivier looks flustered, eyes panicky and flickering between Souta, Kaoruko – who is staring with her mouth open-, and Kouya, “We only just went to look at an apartment yesterday…”

“Isn’t it great Souta-kun?” The Souta from a month ago would not have perceived that what Kouya is insinuating has nothing to do with the greatness and joy of Olivier and Matsuri moving together as a couple; Kouya is not entertaining that thought. Souta has to haul his thoughts backwards and prevent them from affecting his body, stopping it before he gets too hot, because Kouya’s eyes are black and his smirk seductive.

“I think it sounds wonderful.” Kaoruko answers, saving Souta who is opening and closing his mouth, not quite sure how to respond.

“Yes, wonderful.” He ends up repeating with a chuckle. He smiles at Olivier, “I approve. Really. You are a great guy.” And with that, he chooses to ignore Kouya.

-

He does not like being ignored. But he has got to give it to Souta, his reaction makes Kouya thrilled and excited, and now he wants to rush the other couple’s exit from Souta’s house, to have Souta for himself. Sooner rather than later. Although there is always the room above choco la vie which could be useful…

“Well, I must be on my way,” he announces, clapping a hand down on Olivier’s shoulder and causing the man to stumble to the side, “My poor student has his last exam tomorrow, and it is my duty to save him from himself. Do your best with Matsuri-chan!” then he grabs his bag and his coat to walk out. But not before narrowing his eyes and smirking at Kaoruko, who is staring at him as though she is speculating upon observations that would be better for her to ignore. Walking right past Souta, Kouya whispers, “See you soon, Souta-kun.”

After he has made his move to get Kaoruko out of the way.

*

Entering Ricdor is like entering a dark dream of hidden desires and starlight. It is a complete contrast to choco la vie which is white and open – pure. To Kouya, choco la vie would be the angel, whereas Ricdor signifies all the forbidden desires of a demon’s allure. It is no surprise to find more mature women here, even some men, enjoying the multicoloured chocolates with shiny surfaces and eatable glitter. But, to Kouya, he would rather devour what he finds behind the counter of choco la vie than what is here.

“Welcome, can I help you?” a handsome man with jet black hair is standing behind the counter, his expression open, but mind clearly reserved.

Kouya grins widely, “You definitely can.” It is not the first time he makes people uncomfortable, and Kouya merely takes pleasure in seeing the blood drain from the young man’s face, his smile shaking, “But first, could you fetch me Rikudou-san?”

Sekiya almost runs out behind, to the backroom where they most likely produce the chocolates. In Ricdor’s case, their work is not displayed for the customers, there is no glass wall, and Kouya admits that the image of this place is definitely carried out to a T. There is secretiveness to the process of work here, from the chocolates themselves to the employees – Sekiya with his deep black hair and reserved exterior – and the dark and purple walls and heavy leather chairs. And of course, Rikudou himself is a sharp contrast.

The manager almost comes running out and lights up like a Christmas tree when he sees Kouya, “Yoshimoto-sensei! So nice to see you again. Come to ask for the usual?”

This is not the first time Kouya is here, and it is not the first time he greets Rikudou. The first time he met the man, he took great amusement in the discovery of how Rikudou has a slight crush on Souta, finding him extremely charming and handsome. And it was endlessly amusing once he started a personal dialogue with himself of speculations upon Souta’s sexuality, blabbering and completely forgetting that he was talking to Kouya in the first place. Rikudou is like an open book, honest and expressive, and Kouya finds it quite refreshing. Additionally, he is into men, and upon realising how Rikudou found Kouya himself alluring – “In a rather dark and mysterious way, yesyes” as he muttered to himself, eyes blatantly running up and down Kouya’s form when they first met – Kouya has made use of the fact to get Rikudou talking. And Rikudou loves gossiping, loves talking, he is even worse than the ladies in the neighbourhood of the Numata family.

“I prefer our Chocolate Prince, I am afraid,” Kouya answers boldly, facing a big unattractive pout from the chocolatier.

Rikudou sighs, but waves a hand dismissively, “Yes well, I do understand. He is young and charming and all. How can I help you then?” The advantage with Rikudou is that he needs no money or bribery, no favours in return for his help, as long as Kouya gives him some details concerning Souta.

“I want to borrow Sekiya-san.”

“Sekiya?” Rikudou’s expressions are always exaggerated and comedic, and right now he looks like Kouya just announced that he has been unfaithful, “Why?”

“It is a secret.” Kouya winks, and knows he won already with how Rikudou’s face lights up.

“I love secrets! Will you tell me the outcome?”

“Of course.”

“Yay!” with that, Rikudou turns around and yells for the younger man. _Way too easy._

 

 _“Rikudou-san told me: Don’t live in a small world. ‘To get stimulated, you need to meet people from time to time. Your homework is to go invite somebody for dinner.’ I thought a lot about whom to invite, and then you came to my mind, Inoue-san.”_ Sekiya looks up from the paper, his very emotionless face giving way to a little scepticism, “You want me to tell her this?”

Kouya smiles crookedly, “Those exact words. And she should agree to go out with you for the night.” Sekiya opens his mouth to continue, but Kouya shuts him up by taking his hand to put a brown envelope in Sekiya’s palm. “Sekiya-kun, I appreciate your help. Take care of Kaoruko Inoue.”

Sekiya’s eyes widen proportionately and Kouya smirks.

  
*

  
Souta feels back in the game. He works fast and meticulously with the bonbon chocolates and tarts for the day, and even has time to greet some of the customers and take their orders. In between, he tries several flavour combinations for Saeko’s cake, but knows it will have to be prepared for real after they close the shop in the evening, to allow him time to focus solely on the cake. More than once, he feels Kaoruko’s eyes on him, mostly when he tries to hide his winces and does not do well enough to hide his ache from her. Should she ask though, he has come up with an excuse. Even if he told her the unlikely truth, she probably would not believe him.

There is a break in the wave of customers, two couples seated comfortably in the small store with cups of hot beverages and sweets, when Kaoruko walks up to Souta as he stands bent over, sprinkling lime zest on a tray of white diamond-shaped chocolates.

“Souta-kun, are you ok?”

In what he hopes is the best way of disguise, Souta continues working slowly, with the delicate work, “Hm?”

“Well, I have noticed that you limp a little but it’s mostly that you, well, you seem… Different. Yesterday you were cast-down, but today you are working faster than ever. Is it a coping mechanism, because I understand if that is it-”

“Kaoruko-san,” Souta finishes the chocolates and pushes them away, to drag the next tray over. Then he turns to her, “I appreciate your concern, thank you, but I think I just need time. Choco la vie is important to me, more important than Saeko-san.”

“What? Really?”

Souta would not blame her for being disbelieving. It is, after all, quite a turn-around from Souta who used to think nothing was more important than the love he could show and give to Saeko. That was until someone unexpected came along and forced him to open his eyes and see, forced him to grow up and grow a pair.

“That is unexpected.” Kaoruko admits.

Souta glances through the glass window, and when he sees there are still no new customers waiting by the counter, he continues, “Yoshimoto-sensei made me see, what she truly is. My life should not be devoted to someone who can never see the world the way, I do. I don’t want to participate in her games.”

“Games?” Souta finishes the first row of chocolates and moves onto the next. After this, he will decorate some of the chocolate tarts with orange and lemon zest just to make today a little special. He has already considered some autumn specials which he could start working on sketching today or tomorrow. The leaves will turn bright red and orange soon, so choco la vie should have something to accommodate the season, “Well, I guess you could call them games but… Is that how Yoshimoto-sensei described it?”

Souta chooses to ignore the hostility in her voice. Since Kaoruko always comes off as a little hostile towards the people that get close to Souta, be it Saeko or Elena or Kouya, “Maybe he did, I don’t remember. But that is what she does – she plays around with men. I just don’t want to be played around with anymore.”

“And yet, you are being played by someone else, aren’t you?” This time, Souta raises his head, abandons his work. Kaoruko is dead serious, her brow furrowed, her arms hugging herself as though she is scared or anxious, “Yoshimoto-sensei is playing with you, isn’t he?” she asks again, and Souta finds mixed emotions of anger and sympathy in her eyes. But once again, Kaoruko is only half right. She does not know the full story, and Souta does not intend to give it to her. He does not owe her anything.

“Kaoruko-san. I know you don’t like Yoshimoto-sensei, but please refrain from making this kind of assumption.” He demands.

“But-”

“Kaoruko-san,” Souta gives her a hard stare, “Your words insinuate that I am weak and easy to manipulate. So, please refrain from expressing your opinion, when you have nothing kind to say.” Her eyes widen and her lips tremble a bit, signifying the impact of Souta’s words. They needed to be said.

Souta likes his colleague, but since choco la vie opened, she has been berating and reprimanding more often than necessary. And Souta can guess why she might be jealous of others, seeing as she has no lover or interest, like Souta and Olivier. However, that is not an excuse to criticize others, and enough is enough. She may not have meant to criticize Souta, but she indirectly did. Moreover, Souta does not want to hear her judge Kouya with everything he has done for Souta. Souta will not allow that.

He returns to his work, not offering Kaoruko a second word or glance, and a moment later, he hears the glass door close behind her.


	5. Chapter 5

While walking towards choco la vie, his student sends Kouya a text with confetti, a thumbs-up and a laughing emoji which makes Kouya smile. _You did well._ With that task completed, he will leave another family to their fate and hope for the best for the future of their youngest son. So, for now, until he finds his next job, another person requires his attention.

He came to discuss the empty apartment above choco la vie with Souta, but it seems like he will need to remove another obstacle before that happens. Kaoruko is sweeping the stone outside the shop in the afternoon sun, but ceases to do so immediately, when she sees Kouya walking up to her. There is no question concerning her intention with that look in her eyes, when she neatly props the broom up against a nearby pot with autumn flowers.

She crosses her arms, and Kouya is smiling already, tilting his head in curiosity, “Before you go in, I need to speak with you.”

“Oh? What would you need to speak to me about?” Kouya answers, feigning ignorance and finds great amusement in the way she apparently thinks she can scare him off. She can be feisty, yes, but there is nothing about her that could ever make Kouya nervous. She has nothing on him, knows nothing about his life, and Souta already trusts Kouya more than he trusts her.

Kaoruko walks closer and in her eyes, there is pure distrust and dislike, “I don’t know what you are planning, but leave Souta alone. He has been through enough, and he is a good man.”

“Why would I be planning anything?” Kouya smirks at her, and makes sure to look unimpressed.

“Your contract is already complete, Souta is no longer interested in Saeko-san. He is better now, so there is no reason for you to keep coming here. Leave us alone.”

It is, of course, rather simple, the answer to why Kaoruko makes such a big deal out of telling Kouya off. And it has very little to do with Saeko, with Kouya tutoring Souta, with how good of a man Souta is and blabla. As a matter of fact, as Kouya walks closer and closer to her, narrowing his eyes when she does not back away, it is clear as day.

She may try to appear unfazed by him, but the slight tremble of the hands hidden away at her elbows signify that she is indeed scared of him. With good reason, “Kaoruko-san,” he starts, making a show out of offering her what could almost resemble sympathy, “It appears, you are in love with Souta-kun.”

“Huh? What, no- I mean, I am no-”

“Don’t try to fool me.” He growls, and she starts, eyes widening, “You love him.” Another step forward and he is right in her space, leaning down over her small form with a darkening presence, “If you know what’s good for you, don’t get in my way.”

The brave Kaoruko from a moment ago is gone, substituted by a trembling woman who cannot speak, and Kouya’s face twists into a brief grin, before it turns dark again, when he puts a hand on her shoulder and leans forward to speak in her ear. She gasps and shivers at the contact, her body going rigid with Kouya’s lips by her ear, “If you get in my way, I will destroy your life.”

He leaves her standing by the door, curious as to how her face will look when she recovers enough to walk back in, following Kouya. How long will she take, he wonders.

Souta is behind the counter with Olivier, talking quietly as the store is empty, and Kouya spots him immediately, his red scarf high on his neck to hide the marks Kouya left on his skin, his smile bright as the two of them share a joke.

“I am back~” he announces, taking great pleasure in witnessing the light blush on Souta’s cheeks when he sees Kouya, “When are you going out with Matsuri-chan today, Olivier?” he asks the French man, instead of greeting Souta first. And he does so for more than one reason.

“Right in-” Olivier glances at the clock on the wall, “Ten minutes, actually. Souta-kun, would you mind…?” he turns to Souta who waves a hand casually.

“Sure, go get ready, Olivier.” He grins, clearly happy at the happiness his friend has found with Souta’s sister, “Take good care of her, yeah?”

“Of course!” Olivier merely yells as he runs through the glass door, out the back. _Such innocent love._

When Souta turns back, Kouya leans across the counter in front of him, grinning, “Hello Souta.” The dropping of the honorific does not go unnoticed by Souta, who freezes momentarily before his eyes start to flicker nervously to a spot behind Kouya’s head, “Are you still sore?”

That gets Souta to look at him, as he splutters and goes tomato red in the face. Which is rather cute actually. “What are you insinuating?”

They are alone in the store, and Souta is currently looking extremely flustered and caught off guard, denying things, Kouya does not want him to deny, so Kouya moves around the counter, past the beautiful glass cabinets with some chocolates, he definitely needs to check out today. Whether Souta wants to tell him that this area is off limits or ask him what he is doing, or defy him in any other way, Kouya does not really care much for, when he walks right up to Souta and backs him up against the glass wall leading to the chocolatier’s studio, with his hands against Souta’s arms. Kouya pins him there, notices how Souta’s mouth parts in what would probably have been a gasp, if Kouya had not chosen that moment to shut him up with his mouth, realising how he longed for the taste of him, once their lips meet.

He tastes like chocolate samples and of promising warmth, and he sighs into the kiss once Kouya pries his lips apart with his tongue. They do not have much time, but Kouya feels high already, craving more when he feels Souta tilting his head to grant Kouya’s tongue broader access, to allow him to taste and take more of Souta. Kouya is surprised at the lack of resistance, of Souta allowing Kouya to kiss him so deeply in his store, for everyone to see. It is not without a certain risk.

A loud gasp and another quieter one echoing the first behind Kouya makes him smirk right before the two of them pull apart.

Olivier is frozen mid-move, only half a metre away, holding the glass-door open – curious how he did not notice them from within the glass room. Kaoruko has just rounded the corner from the entrance and her eyes are wide, completely incredulous – she was probably the one with the louder gasp. There was no better way really, to show the woman what Kouya can do to Souta that she cannot, what it is exactly that Kouya wants from Souta. She most certainly did not expect that this was it.

Kouya snorts, but steps back, preparing to allow Souta to be flustered, so Kouya can watch him try and talk his way out of this one. But then he gets surprised too, because Souta does neither of those things. Instead, he runs a hand through his slightly tousled hair, from being pushed against the wall, and then he casually rests his elbows on the cabinet to turn to look at Kouya, “Actually, I made a new kind of chocolate for this week. But Kaoruko thinks its too dark for the image of choco la vie. Would you mind trying it?” He completely ignores the two stunned people and the heavy mood their shared kiss just brought down, and Kouya is caught completely by surprise. He is impressed, and he is intrigued.

He smiles widely, “Of course! Let me partake in the back room, there is something I need to ask you about.” To the observers, this would probably seem like an excuse to get Souta alone to do more heady stuff, although Kouya’s intention is merely to discuss the empty apartment upstairs – which, Olivier and Kaoruko have no way of knowing of course. And true, Kouya may not be able to keep his hands quite off Souta if he gets him alone.

“Take care of the store for a moment, would you, Kaoruko-san?”

“Enjoy your date with Matsuri-chan,” Kouya tells Olivier as he walks right past him. Olivier is still way too stunned to say anything, mouth still gaping open while his eyes follow first Souta, then Kouya as they leave the store. Kouya wants to laugh, but he is almost too smug for that, enjoying this unexpected outcome to no end. What in the world did he do to deserve such a treat?

*

“Why don’t you use the apartment above choco la vie?”

For once, Souta is sharing a cup of coffee with Kouya, knowing Kaoruko will come asking, should she need help in the store. With Souta’s productivity today, he has time to spare for his ex-tutor. Whom he knows he will miss the moment he leaves.

Kouya is resting a small plate with an assortment of chocolates on his thigh, while sitting across from Souta. The enclosed space and their close proximity is hard to ignore.

“It is mostly used as a storage room right now,” Souta explains, “And since Olivier and I stay at my family’s house, and Kaoruko lives alone, there hasn’t really been a need for it. It is probably a terrible mess up there.” He watches Kouya’s face as he says this, wondering why Kouya brought it up to begin with. But then he thinks of the day Kouya showed up unannounced, surprising Souta in his bedroom and later charming the hell out of Souta’s father.

That day, Souta entertained the thought of having his own place, considered the opportunities and advantages of an apartment by himself if he happened to want to live with Saeko. Though Saeko is no longer someone he could ever see himself living with, there is now someone else.

“What if someone asked for permission to rent it, would you agree?” Kouya asks then, setting the plate on the small table beside him for the time being, to rest his head in his palm, his face moving closer to Souta’s.

And Souta can feel his heartrate quicken, “Would they want to though? It is right above the shop, probably noisy in the morning, and the staircase leads down to the backroom with the only way out being the back door of choco la vie. The person would run into the staff all the time. Would _you_ want to?”

Kouya’s face splits into a grin, and in that moment Souta knows he just walked into a carefully-laid trap, and he just has time to shake his head at himself and chuckle humourlessly, before, “Why, I thought you’d never ask.”

“I cannot believe you,” Souta says, but with a smile, “You just invited yourself in, didn’t you?”

“As a matter of fact, Souta,” Kouya sips his coffee and leans back, satisfied with his mission accomplished, “I am in need of a new apartment. My current contract expires soon, and since I am done with my work in that area, there is no reason for me to stay.”

“You will have to help me move the things from up there. And do the cleaning yourself.”

Deep down, Souta is not really sure whether this is a good idea. It is all happening a little too fast to be comfortable for him, yet he could probably never refuse Kouya, knowing there would be consequences.

“Good.” Kouya reaches for the new black bonbon chocolate and hums in thought once he props it in his mouth, “This is delicious, Souta.” The praise makes Souta fidget in embarrassment, Kaoruko’s words concerning the creation completely forgotten. It is Kouya’s words that matter, and Souta knows that is a dangerous observation.

He takes the empty plate and gets up, knowing he should probably head back to the store and discuss matters concerning the apartment with Kaoruko and, when he gets home, Olivier too. Since they are also a part of choco la vie, what he just agreed to should to be negotiated with them as well.

“Here, try for yourself.” Kouya’s hand shoots out before Souta can say anything or leave, to grab a firm hold of Souta’s scarf and pull him down.

His mouth tastes like sweet blackberries and alcohol, of heat and of possible deceit.

 

*

 

  
Another day, and two fateful encounters at choco la vie. Outside, a visitor from Ricdor is smoothly charming a weakened Kaoruko into what could eventually become the beginning of an important friendship, and inside someone is picking up a long-awaited birthday cake.

The sound of a shutter goes off, catching two people in front of the shop, one of which is holding a broom.

“Good.”

While Souta is left unobserved.

  
  
*

  
  
Much has happened in Souta’s life in the short span of five weeks. While summer has ended and autumn begun, Souta’s world has tumbled down, only to start rebuilding itself. It will take time and effort for him, and the support of the one who essentially brought Souta to his knees to begin with. Souta is wounded and still healing, and although he knows one more deceit will probably render it incredibly hard, if not impossible for him to pick himself up again, he chooses to trust in Kouya simply because he has no one else.

He has heard very little from Elena, has not seen her since they tricked Saeko, and looking back, the one who did the tricking was Yoshimoto Kouya, not them. What Souta knows is that Elena is with someone else, does not need Souta’s support and warmth anymore, and he just hopes that at least she was able to win her beloved Kurashina-san.

Olivier is with Matsuri, and they move out of Souta’s place next week, along with Souta’s father. With Souta working all the time, Matsuri was surprisingly the one to suggest their father stay with her and Olivier until he finds a small apartment or chooses to remarry. The future is bright but unknown for the three of them. It will leave Souta’s house rather empty, and Souta has been considering what to do with it. Now that Kouya will move into the apartment above choco la vie, Souta will have to find somewhere else, since he cannot afford to keep the house alone. The family house holds a lot of memories, recent ones including Kouya and that day where Souta ended up lying underneath him on the floor – the day he probably realised his attraction to the man. But Souta hopes he can create new memories elsewhere, a place where there is no traces of Saeko.

Kaoruko has detached herself from him, and Souta understands now. Judging from her reaction at seeing Souta and Kouya together, it is easy to figure out that she held some feelings towards Souta that he can never return. He just wishes he had known earlier, to at least relieve her pain a little.

Souta takes a step back and looks at the cake in front of him. He has poured all there is left of his feelings for Saeko into every single component; all the memories, all the imagery and his dreams, all his illusions of what she is, and what she stands for, all that he once thought he wanted together with her, and all the pain she left him to carry on his shoulders. It is all there, in the mousse between the layers, in the tempered chocolate coating, in the raspberry coulis, in the dark pink chocolate butterfly and the hard caramel bits in the sponge cake. It will be a bittersweet moment, giving all of it away. But he will be handing it to her and her husband – for the right person to own.

Although Souta knows what she is, he hopes for the best for Yoshioka.

It almost seems as though something over-worldly knows of his decision to let everything go, to keep his wounded heart for someone else, since the one who comes to pick up the birthday cake at noon is not Saeko, but Yoshioka. Souta is unsure whether he regrets not seeing her one last time, to be absolutely sure of his decision, or whether it is actually for the better.

He hands the fine, black paper bag over the counter for the man and smiles when he thanks him. Only once Yoshioka’s back is turned and he is on his way out, does Souta call for him.

“Yoshioka-san?”

He turns around, to look at Souta in question.

“Tell Saeko-san happy birthday.”

Yoshioka nods, “I will.”

_Goodbye, Saeko._

The sound of a door being opened behind him, makes Souta turn around. And when he sees Kouya lean against the doorframe with his arms crossed and that shit-eating grin on his face, he knows he made the right decision.

 

**Week six – Limited one-time release of crêpes suzette with dark chocolate ice cream after 3 pm.  
**

**Week seven – Earl Grey Petit Fours with lemon ganache, white chocolate and decorated with a dried edible maple leaf**

It has been a week, and nothing has changed at choco la vie. Aside from Olivier and Matsuri shooting each other longing glances through the glass wall separating the work stations and the store, of course. And the daily occurrence of Kouya sneaking up on Souta in the backroom when he is changing either from or to his uniform, too. Souta’s ex-tutor shows up at least once in the shop every day, to steal a chocolate or a cup of coffee during his ‘very tiring work of carrying boxes’, as he continues to insist it is, although Souta has seen plenty of Yamato employees in their green jumpsuits stealthily – or not so stealthily – running through the back door with a bed, a couple of desks and plenty of cardboard boxes. And since Souta helped him empty the dusty rooms upstairs for old furniture and boxes of unused utensils from choco la vie, Kouya really has not been carrying much.

Choco la vie has not lost popularity, despite Kaoruko’s concern of how Souta’s ideas are changing and how his chocolates are getting ‘darker’. On the contrary, the mix of themes and tastes has brought a broader range of customers to the store, and now Souta also serves mature women and men, almost as often as he serves young women. And it is a pleasant change, with more people to talk to – and talk about – and more media exposure. Choco la vie has been given a couple of additional magazine spreads for next week, in which Souta’s Petit Fours and Pain d’epices are featured. And given how it has all happened within two weeks, Souta does not dare imagine how it will be in a month. Hopefully, the hype is not only temporary. He will just have to continue to work hard on seasonal and weekly new and limited specials.

And Souta himself is still staying in the Koyurugi house, but almost everything is packed and ready to be moved. It will only be a matter of days. And of finding a place.

It is 8 pm. that evening after the store is closed when Souta knocks on Kouya’s door upstairs, a little fidgety since it is the first time he comes to Kouya and not the other way around.

After opening the door, Kouya merely tilts his head at Souta, not even greeting him; it is only 2 hours ago they last saw each other, when Kouya poked Souta on his shoulder in the store, to inquire about recommended take-out restaurants and whether Souta had any pamphlets. Souta cannot help but look at him, at the grey sweatpants he is wearing and the tight black shirt with a V-neck, showing off his collarbones, the shape of his pectorals and defined abdominal muscles.

“I am experimenting with a new bonbon chocolate,” Souta explains, finding Kouya’s eyes darker when he looks up into them, having finished his gawking, “Would you mind trying them and letting me know what you think?”

“Isn’t it usually Kaoruko-san or Olivier, you use for that kind of job?” Kouya asks, clearly teasing Souta and enjoying his discomfort, as he stands in the dark hallway.

“It is. But they are not here right now, and I sorta…” Souta fidgets and mentally hits himself. He starts anew, “I want you to be the one to try them first.”

Souta praises himself next, because he actually manages to make Kouya look a little surprised, “Really?”

Souta nods. Kouya should know by now that Souta likes it, when Kouya eats the things he makes.

In the kitchen, Souta shows Kouya to the tray with deep red-brown chocolates shaped like autumn leaves.

He offers Kouya one by placing it in his open palm, “I made them of semi-dark chocolate infused with various mild spices and they are filled with lemon meringue.” Souta explains while Kouya chews slowly on the chocolate, having popped all of it into his mouth at once. His slow, pondering chewing gives Souta a moment to take in the view in front of him again, now in the light: The way the black shirt clings criminally to Kouya’s chest and muscular arms, his tousled long hair, the sweatpants cradling Kouya’s hips and making Souta’s eyes dart to outlined places below, he does not want to be caught staring at. He swallows.

Kouya makes a show out of looking speculative, gazing at the ceiling and looking at Souta as his tongue pokes around in the corners of his mouth, a movement Souta catches himself following, “It is very different,” Kouya admits and nods once, before he steals another chocolate from the tray, this time biting off half of it. And Souta smiles. “You know, this would be great as a cake.”

_Oh._

Kouya stares at him, tilting his head slowly when Souta does not reply, but simply stares back, the possibilities and ideas rushing through his head. The texture of chewy meringue accompanied by some kind of soft curd or cream…

“You just made a suggestion.” Souta observes slowly, dumbly.

Kouya’s small smile at Souta’s antics weaken, “You don’t like that?”

“No, no that is not it. I like it…” Souta leans against the counter, eyes darting to the floor as he speculates, the ideas running through his head faster than he can grasp one of them, “A cake with vanilla curt perhaps?” he mumbles, “And meringue on top. And white chocolate spheres…”

Caught in his web of ideas, Souta does not notice how Kouya stops smiling and moves closer, until a warm hand worms around his waist, and Souta is pulled up against Kouya’s chest. Souta’s shirt is thin and the way he can feel Kouya’s hard muscles against his lower stomach makes short bursts of heat pierce up the inside of his thighs. When he looks at Kouya’s eyes, his mind goes completely blank, cake long forgotten with those fat, black pupils so close.

“You are so irresistible,” Kouya confesses with a quiet breath, and Souta feels his thumb tracing random circles at Souta’s lower back.

But Souta is the one to surge forward, hands shooting out to touch, one to the back of Kouya’s neck, the other to his upper arm, feeling the biceps move when Kouya embraces Souta tighter, pulling him flush up against him. And Souta is the one who pokes his tongue between Kouya’s lips to taste and fight against Kouya’s tongue, want welling up and hitting him like a bullet train.

Kouya has never suggested anything before, has never offered his input, and now that he does, Souta loves it, wants Kouya to know how much his help and encouragement means. Had he not been by Souta’s side, who knows what would have become of choco la vie and of Souta himself? While Souta does realise that Kouya was the one to push him over the edge to begin with, the fact that he held Souta’s hand to keep him from falling makes Souta eternally grateful. And he tries to show that now, wondering if he has given Kouya reason to believe it before, whether Kouya knows how much he has come to mean to Souta. As crazy as it may sound. Perhaps, Souta is just quick to attach himself to others.

Kouya tilts his head and forces Souta’s tongue up against the roof of his mouth, to roam through Souta’s mouth in retaliation, and Souta does not ask when he lets both hands move down boldly over Kouya’s chest, to reach under the hem of the fabric and touch naked skin. Muscles jump against his palms, when he slides one hand up to touch Kouya’s pectoral, the other moving to his back to trace skin along his lower back and hips, upwards to heavy muscled shoulders. And Kouya growls against Souta’s mouth in reaction to the bold touch, biting at Souta’s lips and licking them better again. When one of Souta’s fingertips trace his left nipple, Kouya’s hand grabs Souta’s ass tight and as he pulls him forward and _grinds_ his pelvis against Souta’s, Souta releases a guttural moan, shivering at the sensation of Kouya’s clothed erection against his own.

With the onslaught of sensations in his body, Souta parts from Kouya’s mouth, panting, leaning up to breathe his name against his ear, only for Kouya to place a harsh bite against the side of his neck that has Souta gasping.

“Wrap your legs around me.”

The words are hardly out of his mouth before Souta does as he is told, jumping for Kouya’s arms to wrap around him, one at his backside, one daringly settling on his ass to openly grope with Souta’s legs so nicely wound around Kouya’s waist.

The ease with which Kouya seems to be supporting Souta’s bodyweight, convinces Souta that there was absolutely no need for the man to use Yamato’s employees to carry boxes or to even whine about it. But that is just one of those things about Kouya that makes him so utterly unpredictable – and amusing – and Souta cannot help it when he hides his face where Kouya’s shoulder meets his thick neck, and he chuckles breathless, strung out from being so utterly aroused, after what was essentially only a heavy make out.

Kouya’s voice is sultry and deep by his ear, “You sound so good, I just _have_ to bring you with me.”

“Show me how you’ve decorated the apartment,” Souta agrees, skin rippling in the pleasure of having Kouya so close. This will be the first time Kouya brings Souta ‘home’, and the realisation brings along a sense of combined excitement and bashfulness.

Kouya moves only a few steps away, with Souta’s arms once again around his neck, to cling to him like an octopus, “What about the chocolates?”

“Leave them.” There are more urgent matters to be taken care of. Right now, Souta could not care less for his chocolates.

But Kouya does not seem to agree. Holding Souta closer with one arm, he bends slightly forward – Souta yelps and clings tighter – and snatches a third chocolate from the tray. He looks incredibly proud of himself once it is in his mouth, smiling at Souta, with his hand back at Souta’s backside, stroking up and down possessively. Souta grabs Kouya’s neck forcefully before he knows it, and when he presses his mouth to Kouya’s and pries their lips apart, he steals what is left of the chocolate, the sweet taste mixed with the taste of Kouya. And when Souta breaks away again, the dark gaze in Kouya’s eyes tells him he just did something incredible.

“Glutton.” Souta comments and Kouya bites at Souta’s lips.

The way up the stairs go much smoother than Souta would have thought, even if they have to slow down incrementally more than once when they kiss, or when Souta sucking at Kouya’s neck becomes too distracting and Kouya has to slam Souta up against the wall, to dig his nails into the softness of his flesh, in warning and make Souta let go.

The apartment above choco la vie consists of one small combined living room and kitchen, a bathroom with a toilet and shower and one small bedroom, which Kouya has decorated with a small double bed, a desk and a small drawer. Books are stacked on the floor and the desk, making the path to the bed rather linear. Souta wonders if the small apartment will be able to fit all these books. More often than not, Souta wonders when Kouya will reveal more about himself; what kind of book he reads, whether he listens to music and likes movies, why he chose his line of work, where he went to school. Kouya knows so much about Souta – practically everything – and Souta knows close to nothing aside from how Kouya loves food and cake, how he is incredibly intelligent – _how_ intelligent exactly, Souta has yet to figure out – and now how he reads a lot. They still have not known each other for long, and there is still time for Souta to learn, he is not yet impatient.

Since Souta continues to cling when Kouya puts a knee on the bed and tries to put Souta down, Kouya ends up with his arms propped up on either side of Souta’s head, hovering over him, until Souta pulls him down for a kiss. It is deep and languid, their pace slower than usual.

Souta believes he has gotten more sex in the past two weeks than he had in total before meeting Kouya, but he is not complaining. Their relationship – whatever category it goes under – is now an established fact in choco la vie. Olivier and Matsuri have stopped teasing Souta about it, and Kaoruko has warmed up a little, once it became a fact that Kouya was not merely toying with Souta while Souta was pining for Saeko. Moreover, since Kaoruko has started seeing Sekiya from Rikudou’s store, and she no longer has to listen to ramblings about Elena or Saeko, she has become softer and less cold towards people around her. Souta suspects Kouya has had a role to play, but he has not quite figured out how and to what extent. Maybe Kouya will tell Souta himself one day.

Kouya makes quick work of Souta’s shirt, to start working on littering Souta’s chest with nibbles and kisses. As usual, he lingers on Souta’s nipples, to suck bruises around them and to pull at them with his teeth until Souta is writhing and arching to rub his crotch in circles against Kouya, to feel the coiling pressure increasing in the pit of his stomach.

“Kouya-” he sighs, breath hitching when Kouya’s hand sneaks below the waistband of his pants and boxers, finding the head of his cock with ease. Souta claws at Kouya’s back beneath his shirt, one leg still thrown around Kouya’s hip, and soon he starts rocking forward to the slow pumping Kouya does, up and down his painfully hard length. His hand is so warm, the tightness of the hold just right, and it feels incredible.

Kouya shushes against Souta’s ear, blows cool air at his dampening skin and listens quietly to the soft whimpering sound Souta makes when Kouya thumbs at the slit, “You should move in here with me,” his hand moves downwards to fondle his balls, “I would be able to take you up here, every night,” a squeeze to the base has Souta drawing a sharp breath, barely keeping himself from tumbling over the edge, and Kouya has only just started, “I could take you every day, after you finish work, and every morning before a new day begins.”

The envision makes Souta moan and dig his nails harder into Kouya’s back, scratching deep with the wish to see angry, red markings come morning. With the action, Kouya chuckles darkly and withdraws his hands, leaving Souta panting hard when Kouya leans back to hover and look down at him. He takes off his shirt in a smooth move, and makes quick work of Souta’s pants and boxers afterwards. At that point, he scoots further back and away from Souta, leaving him cold without his heat to warm Souta up. And there is a moment of question in Souta’s mind, and he looks up at Kouya, just in time to watch him as he grabs a hold of Souta’s knees and spreads his legs apart, bending them sideways for Souta’s feet to touch and expose him to Kouya’s relentless stare.

At the realisation of what exactly Kouya is doing, Souta blushes deeply, he can feel the way his neck and cheeks heat up, and he instantly throws an arm over his face, his way of hiding, when he knows there is no way Kouya will allow him to pull his legs together and deny Kouya the view. Souta bites his lip hard and listens to the soft breathing of Kouya above him, until he feels Kouya place his hands on the inside of his upper thighs, to push him open further. He cannot hold back a loud moan then, a tremble going through him, indicating that precome is slipping from the tip of his cock at the thought of what Kouya sees, of how he exposes Souta completely with no option for him to say no.

There is the sound of movement against soft sheets, weight shifting underneath Souta, when a slick finger breaches his entrance boldly, slowly forcing its way inside, and Souta jerks,

“You’re mine, Souta.” He sounds so dark, the words possessive, and he is right above Souta, chest touching Souta’s as he bends down further and further. The finger inside Souta retracts slowly, only to push back, causing Souta to groan at the burn and stretch, “You’re mine.”

“Kouya.” When Souta removes his arm from his eyes to reach for Kouya’s face, Kouya’s arm catches the wrist before Souta can touch him, and he pins it down beside Souta’s head. When he leans down further, to stare right into Souta’s eyes, the intruding digit crooks inside Souta, finding a spot Kouya quickly became familiar with through thorough exploration, and Souta arches with a muffled whine.

“I won’t let anyone else have you.”

 _And I won’t let anyone else have you._ The thought of Kouya being with someone else tears at Souta’s heartstrings, even if he knows how dangerous such thoughts are this early in their relationship. There is no telling what will happen today, tomorrow, in a week. Although Kouya’s possessive words bring some consolation to Souta and makes him ache even more for him.

“Then hold me.” When Kouya looks at him next, Souta swallows hard, making sure to gaze intensely at him through heavy eyelids, “Hold me, and don’t let go.”

 

Kouya has only been working him with three fingers for around ten seconds when he pulls the digits out. There is barely contained lust in his hurried movements of rolling on the condom and slicking himself up, and Souta follows the actions with legs parted widely in open invitation, resting on his elbows so he can see how Kouya’s leaking cock is hard enough to align with his lower abdomen. Souta licks his lips and tilts his head backwards, when Kouya’s focus suddenly snaps from preparing himself to stare right into Souta’s eyes.

“Keep looking like that, and you won’t be able to walk tomorrow,” he promises, voice gravelly. But Souta just further cranes his neck to the side, parting his lips wider, and when he moans softly, he makes sure to hold Kouya’s eyes.

After the first time with Kouya, Souta has learned more and more about himself and his desires, finding that he and Kouya are incredibly compatible in terms of preferences. What one of them wants, the other wants to give.

Souta gets one last, hungry kiss before he feels the blunt head of Kouya’s cock against his entrance, the only warning is the brief sensation of cold lube on burning skin, before Kouya presses inside. And he groans deeply as he goes, all the way to the hilt in one painful move. He does this often, but nevertheless it still makes Souta’s breath get stuck his throat, his chest heaving at the delicious stinging pain. Souta feels so full, Kouya is thicker than three of his fingers, and Souta’s walls fight to accommodate the size of him.

“Next time,” Souta pants, closing his eyes briefly to try and breathe properly, only to fail utterly, when Kouya hardly gives him a chance to adjust before withdrawing slightly, to push back in, in a shallow rocking motion, “Skip the condom.”

The reaction Souta gets is Kouya groaning softly against the skin of his jaw and lightly scratching his teeth against the bone, indicating exactly what Souta’s request does to him, “You’re sure?”

“I want-” another thrust, this time a little faster than the previous, “I want all of you.”

The next slide of Kouya’s cock in him feels smoother, slicker, and soft pleasure starts to take over the pain inside him. Souta wraps both legs around Kouya to draw him in deeper, and Kouya grabs onto one of his thighs, palm enveloping the muscle, for him to pull it slightly upwards. Then he speeds up, his breathing becoming laboured as an indicator of their shared pleasure. Souta twists in the sheets, balling them up in his fists and moaning when Kouya suddenly draws out slowly, only to slam back in, in a quick, deep motion.

“As you wish.” Kouya promises, and allows no more delicate movements. The slick, obscene sounds from below increase in volume as he goes harder, deeper, now taking what he wants, how he wants it, “I will _mark_ you.”

Pressure starts to build in the pit of Souta’s stomach, his thighs tingling, and he welcomes it, does not care that there could be less pain if their pace was slower; this is how he wants it, and he takes it, when Kouya raises his leg further up towards his shoulder, and he can feel every inch of Kouya’s cock in him when he pistons harshly in and out of him. Souta tries to follow his pace, to grind downwards to receive what he is given and meet Kouya in return and it is so deep, Souta losing his voice in a soundless moan, as he throws his head back. There are lips on the newly bared skin, teeth sinking into his Adams Apple and his sternomastoid, before Kouya starts sucking bruises around his collarbones and shoulders.

Kouya slows down one moment, to move Souta’s leg again, to place his ankle on his shoulder, and he groans at his next thrust that is _hard_ but gets even deeper, when Kouya uses his other hand to pull at Souta’s hip to scoot him closer across the sheets, and upwards, forcing him to arch his back and hold the pose. But it is worth it when Kouya picks up his pace again. Souta does not last long after that, with the incredible friction, and the tip of Kouya’s cock hitting what he imagines could very well be the end of him, receiving Kouya to the hilt.

“All the things, I want to do to you,” Kouya’s dirty whispers in his ear pushes him closer, “I will not hold back, Souta.” Souta writhes and moans unrestrained, knowing exactly how that affects Kouya.

Kouya’s thrusting becomes unrhythmic, faster, hurried and what starts as a growl in his throat increases to a groan when he, with one brutal thrust and a harsh pull at Souta’s hip, that will bruise, comes, the sound he makes and the shudder Souta can feel rolling over his skin, setting Souta’s orgasm off in turn. He does not know how loud he moans, but Kouya is surely bound to tease him about it in their post-orgasm bliss.

Not that it matters now, with the warmth enveloping him as a pleasant buzz cradles his muscles. This means a lot more now, Souta realises. With the choice of following Kouya to his place, to enter a sphere that is not at a safe distance, the situation changed. With Kouya still lying with half of his body on top of Souta, Souta ignores his fears and entangles his fingers in Kouya’s hair and strokes the strands softly, watching as the locks tangle and untangle in his hand.

It is too late, really, he has been too slow to realise, but right then, Souta realises that all those new weekly chocolates and cakes at choco la vie, those six weeks of inspiration turned to creation, have been different from before he knew Kouya. Nothing, since he met the tutor, has been inspired by Saeko, even when Souta still thought he loved her. From the very beginning, Kouya was the source of his inspiration. What happened in Souta’s conscience when he met Kouya, he cannot possibly ever comprehend, and he will have to settle for that. Nevertheless, the discovery is so shocking – and scary – that he will keep it to himself.

At least for a while longer.  
 

 

**Final week – Pain au chocolat**

There is no warm body to share the space and sheets with, when he wakes up. And the realisation makes him sit up so fast that his vision blackens, and his mind swims as the blood rushes downwards. He feels a spear of slight pain in his chest at the thought of Souta having left some time during the night or early morning, not feeling safe or comfortable enough to stay the night beside Kouya.

But then the smell of fried eggs and coffee fills his nostrils, along with a sweet fragrance that makes his mouth water. His body rises from the bed automatically, without him putting any thought into it, aside from the knowledge that Souta is nearby, and Kouya wants to find him. He picks up a pair of black boxers from the drawer on the way, and need only open one door, before that whiff of a smell he caught in the bedroom intensifies. If that does not make him walk faster to the kitchen.

It is almost a shame that Souta is wearing something and is not cooking naked, Kouya thinks, but when he realises that Souta is wearing one of the shirts Kouya had lying on top of his drawer, because there was not enough space inside it, he hums in approval, and walks up behind the man to peak over his shoulder.

“It smells of pastries here,” he states as a way of greeting. And he catches the way Souta smiles shyly, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink.

“I got an idea this morning, so I have been down in the shop to use the oven.”

“Oh?” Kouya walks around to lean against the counter in order to see Souta’s face, “You’ve been busy.”

His brown hair is tousled and the left side is flat, some locks standing proudly upwards almost vertically, and he looks so cute. He looks like a Sunday morning, as is right. And when he looks at Kouya, his eyes are shining healthily,

“I will bring you some.”

“So secretive.” Kouya smirks, fingers tingling with the urge to reach out and touch Souta, to hold this person Kouya really wants to just bring back to bed with him right now. But he holds back, a little stunned by his desires. It is an entirely new feeling, Kouya probably needs to get used to before he can accept it.

“I really am surprised at how great of a cook you are, Souta.” Kouya admits as he follows Souta to the small dining table upon which Souta has already set a pair of mugs and cutlery, some juice – where did he get that? – and salt. It is all rather domestic, and Souta has taken quite a few liberties in Kouya’s kitchen. But Kouya is not a very private person in that matter, and it does not bother him at all, knowing Souta has made such a big effort, “I guess you are a genius with all tastes and temperatures.”

“Now, you should probably taste it first, before you give me all those compliments,” Despite saying so, Souta looks incredibly happy at Kouya’s praise, and Kouya makes a note of remembering that when they are in bed.

Kouya follows Souta with his eyes as he puts down a set of plates with two fried eggs on each, sunny-side half-cooked, exactly as Kouya likes them, and he cannot help but smile and raise an eyebrow at Souta, wondering if this is some scheme to make Kouya love him. Because if that is the case, it is working.

“I’ll be right back.” Souta scuttles off and down the stairs, and Kouya rests his head in his palms, gazing after him, where he vanished from sight.

Quiet settles over the apartment, allowing Kouya some time to take it all in; what exactly is happening, how much that has changed in just 24 hours compared to the months he has watched and been around Souta. This moment seems way too good to last.

Souta is carrying a big basket when he comes back a moment later, and Kouya’s eyes widen when he realises what kind of pastry the basket is filled with.

“Did you-?” he is honestly taken aback, his expression stunned enough to make Souta chuckle.

“Do you remember the idea for the ultimate pain au chocolat?” Souta asks, before setting the basket down in front of Kouya, to allow him to look. First, he places one round pastry with roasted almond flakes on top, then a plain-looking traditional croissant beside it on Kouya’s plate, “So, this round pastry made with croissant dough is a new idea. There is a kind of chocolate mousse inside, although it is more of a dark ganache, with a slight bitterness to it which goes well with the roasted almonds, I think. With the texture of the chocolate, it is as good fresh and hot as it is cold. The second one is a quick idea in the heat of the moment with the leftover dough. It is a traditional croissant but with salty-sweet marzipan inside.”

Souta looks so happy, when he finishes talking, his cheeks heated in a healthy red colour, and there is a spark of eagerness in his eyes, a light that Kouya can only identify as pleasure of having created something he is proud of, something he cannot wait to show to the world. And he takes Kouya’s breath away. If the chocolatier is not a genius, Kouya thinks the world is a lie.

He is not sure of what to say, given the anticipation in the way Souta looks at Kouya. Kouya never gets nervous, but this moment has him finding himself at a loss for words. At the end, he just lets himself smile and look at the pastries on his plate.

“This looks amazing, Souta.” He tells him with unrestrained honesty, “Really, what did I do to deserve this?”

Souta blushes a deep crimson, “Nothing. I just got inspired, and I want you to try them and tell me what you think.” He sits down opposite Kouya and occupies himself with pouring them coffee, clearly nervous and fidgety. To Kouya, it just makes Souta all the more alluring.

It is no surprise that the pastries taste amazing. Kouya has never tried anything like it, and he has surely tried a lot of different cakes and pastries, especially after coming across choco la vie and Souta, “You have outdone yourself,” he admits seriously, locking eyes with Souta, “I don’t think you realise, Souta, but you can do anything. _Anything_ , you put your mind to.”

Choco la vie and the creation of chocolates and pastries is a lot more than just work to Souta, Kouya understands now, watching when Souta bites his lip and has to look down, “You think so?”

“I know. I just got proof.”

Souta’s eyes are shimmering when he looks at Kouya again, but he is smiling, nodding in humble thanks.

They finish the breakfast in silence although their eyes interlock several times across the table. Kouya hates the table in those moments, as it makes it impossible for him to reach out and touch Souta, to pull him close and be near.

Kouya swallows the last of his marzipan croissant with a sip of coffee, when Souta suddenly gets up and walks around the table to Kouya’s side. He says nothing, merely takes the coffee pot to pour Kouya some more, but when he does, he moves his body very close to Kouya’s chair, and his presence has Kouya’s fingers twitching. There is intent in the way he slowly puts the pot back on the table, but nevertheless it takes Kouya off guard when Souta turns around, to reach out and put his hand on the backrest of Kouya’s chair, to lean into Kouya’s space, face so close. His gaze is _burning_ , and Kouya is not sure he has seen that look in his eyes before. Tension seems to be cracking in the air between them, while Kouya can hardly recognize this aggressive being as the Souta he met for the first time in choco la vie, nor the one from two weeks ago. He has grown.

Souta’s hand is by his lips then, fingers softly touching to remove some flakes of pastry from the croissants, and Kouya’s hand surges up like a striking viper to grip Souta’s wrist. The action is more instinctual than it is an actual wish to stop Souta, but it breaks the moment; Souta’s eyes widen in shock and fear of having done something wrong. And Kouya hates himself right then. He did not want to see that look on Souta’s face, so in a desperate attempt to save the moment, he pulls at Souta’s arm, pulls it over his shoulder and reaches for Souta’s face with his free hand. Souta’s eyes flutter shut, when Kouya brushes his fingers over Souta’s jaw, caressing skin in a featherlight, soothing movement. Long eyelashes brush close to Souta’s cheekbones, and Kouya is momentarily breathless, in this intimate moment, with the way the warm light shines through the windows and creates a homely, comfortable mood that must be a first for Kouya to ever experience.

He wants Souta closer, he wants Souta in his lap, and he shudders in relief when Souta’s expression softens and falls back to how he looked at Kouya before, seduction evident in his languid movements when he places a leg on either side of Kouya’s chair, one hand tangling itself in Kouya’s hair. Then he uncharacteristically pulls to have Kouya tilt his head backwards, and it shatters the serene moment, when Kouya growls at the provocative behaviour, and Souta shuts him up with a filthy kiss, mouth opening pliantly when their lips meet, to invite Kouya to slip his tongue in. Souta moans as Kouya settles a hand on his hip possessively, to pull Souta up against him and feel his undeniable want against his lower abdomen.

“Thank you.” Is whispered against Kouya’s ear when Souta breaks off to drag his lips teasingly along the skin of Kouya’s neck from his ear to his shoulder, while Kouya’s movements are a lot rougher, teeth sinking into the soft, fragile skin beneath Souta’s jawbone to cause pain and mark ownership.

When Souta starts rutting forward, seeking friction with only their boxers separating their cocks from rubbing right against each other and giving them both enough pleasure to lose it and come if given enough time, Kouya’s patience snaps. He takes Souta with him as he stands up, ignoring the way the coffee cup tumbles over, instead shoving the cutlery out of the way for it to clatter to the floor. When he lays Souta down on top of the dining table, Souta spreads his legs with no objection for Kouya to stand between them, and it earns him a guttural groan of want, before Kouya starts working on placing one hickey after another across the fragile, white skin of Souta’s neck.

Something besides want affects Kouya’s behaviour and drive; he seeks more than just pleasure and control with the markings he scatters all over Souta’s body; there is a more meaningful desire behind their moment over shared breakfast and Kouya just has to accept it now that it is too late.

He was not meant to fall. It was all supposed to have been a game, a series of outcomes bringing Kouya amusement. Instead, while consuming Souta, Souta consumed him in return.

*

Kouya has so far never really known what he wants, whether he wants anything at all. He finds amusement in the pain of others, he enjoys toying with and manipulating people, watching the outcomes, like a puppeteer moving the people on strings for the most satisfactory, and sometimes most devastating, outcome. But he has never truly _wanted_ anything. Not really. Until now.

Souta is warm in his arms, his skin so soft under Kouya’s fingertips as he traces the muscles by his broad shoulder blades. _This._ Souta in his arms with his back and hips neatly decorated with bruises, with hickies on his thighs. Souta beside him, content and happy in his rest. This, Kouya wants. If he could, he would stay like this, for however long Souta wants him to.

He chuckles quietly, and Souta stirs in his arms.

“What is it?” he asks, head lifted, and those beautiful brown irises rest on Kouya, watches his face. Kouya wants them to always look at him like that, never with hate, never with displeasure or spite, or disgust…

“Nothing.” He nuzzles his face into Souta’s thick, brown hair and smiles.

Who knew this overly romantic, sappy chocolatier could ever teach Kouya anything. Could teach him _everything_.

With all that Souta has given him, surrendering his body, his soul, his dreams, it is only fair for Kouya to give him something in return. He silently reaches across the bed – with a little difficulty, causing Souta to raise himself from where he has been lying on Kouya’s chest to follow the path of Kouya’s hand with question in his eyes – to search the inside pocket of his jacket.

What he fishes out is what used to be a white doll, a small ningyou made of yarn, but it is now brown in colour, the colour of dried blood. Whether Souta realises this or not, is uncertain, but he props himself up with an elbow, his body heat no longer against Kouya’s. He shoots Kouya a confused look, worry in his voice, “What is that?”

Kouya smiles softly, images passing through his head as he stares at the eight-year old memento between his fingers, “This is my past, my present and my future.” _It is me._

With all that Souta has given Kouya, it is only fair for Kouya to offer him everything in return. Offer himself. He just hopes Souta will stay with him afterwards. He, who has never _hoped_ for anything.

“You’ll be the first one to know.” He takes Souta’s hand, and there are tears in his eyes when he presses the soft doll into his palm, “It is yours.”

_You’ll be the first. You’ll be the last._

  
 


End file.
